


In Sickness and In Health

by sarahouse85



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Romance, Sherlolly - Freeform, Tragedy, angsty
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-26
Updated: 2014-07-01
Packaged: 2017-12-09 13:15:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 43
Words: 96,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/774618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarahouse85/pseuds/sarahouse85
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Molly Hooper finds out that she is sick and she is considering what to do with the time she has left. She has half a mind to through caution to the wind and go no holds barred, especially when it comes to Sherlock. Sherlolly pairing, some fluff, some sex, ultimately ending in character death. Sorry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Molly Hooper struggled down the hallway of St. Bartholomew's, an enormous amount of charts stacked high in her arms, as was the norm. She walked quickly down the hall, her messenger bag hitting her heels as she walked. Late again. I hope he isn't too cross. She quickly turned the corner, knowing the hospital hallways by heart, each step being one she had taken every day for years. She soon came to the door of her lab and backed through it so as not to drop the many charts she had in her hands.

Sherlock Holmes and John Watson were at their usual places. Sherlock was seated in front of his microscope, John at his side preparing and handing slides. She seemed to have gone unnoticed and she let out a sigh of relief. She set the charts and paperwork down on the edge of the lab countertop and began to sort through them as Sherlock had requested.

"About time you showed up, Molly." Sherlock chided without even taking a moment to look up from his view through the microscope. "I'd almost begun to worry."

Molly's attention was peaked. "Really?" She asked with a voice full of surprise.

"No." Sherlock answered. Molly's shoulders slumped at her disappointment. John looked up and shrugged, exchanging the usual 'you know how he is' look between them.

"Okay." She stated and started over to the back cabinet of the lab to collect the tests that Sherlock had requested be run. She was feeling a bit sluggish today, and she wasn't quite sure why. Her headache had reared its ugly head once more. She put a hand to her temple. Please don't let it be another migraine. I just got over the last one just two days ago. She shook it off, trying to appear her usual chipper self. Sherlock had taken no notice, but John had. He was watching her intently has she went on about her work.

"Are you feeling okay, Molly?" John asked, his brow darkened with concern. She glanced up.

"Oh! Just a bit of a headache. Nothing a few aspirin won't cure." She smiled, and appeared her normal self. John returned the smile and quickly took the slide away from Sherlock that he began to thrust in John's direction.

"Are headaches normal for you? Do you get them often?" John inquired as she flurried past him and started to run tests on the first batch of samples. Sherlock said nothing.

"Oh, just here and there. Probably just stress from work." Molly stated and glanced at Sherlock as he busied himself, lost within his work. John remained concerned.

"Perhaps, but if they get too bad, you should probably be seen. They have medicine for those who suffer chronically." John gave his two cents and turned back to Sherlock.

"Yes, yes, John. Haven't you ever had a headache before? It's nothing that's going to kill her. Concentrate." Sherlock spat. Must be a particularly frustrating case. He's especially fiesty today. Molly thought to herself. She steadied herself against the counter as another pang of her oncoming headache troubled her. John continued to watch, the only one in the room who seemed to notice she was ailing. She did her best to straighten herself up and continue her tests. John eventually took his eyes off of her to assist Sherlock, and Molly couldn't be more happier to be unnoticed.

Molly returned to work the next day, full on migraine in play within her tender head. Colors played before her eyes, sharp images that jabbed at her brain with their clarity. She felt green around the gills and even her equilibrium seemed off. She stumbled into the lab, thankful that her two usual visitors were not present. She flicked off the lab lights, and pulled out her ear muffs she had stored in her bag. She didn't dare wear them on the way through London and the hospital, but in the comfort of her lab where she could be by herself she gladly wore them to keep out any sudden loud noises that would stab at her like knives.

She was leaning over the completed batch of samples from the day before and was sorting through them when she felt a tap upon her shoulder. She cried out in alarm and spun about, barely catching herself on the corner of the lab countertop as she did so. Sherlock stood in front of her, a sort of amused look upon his face. She removed the ear muffs and simply stared at him, trying to calm her heart. "Good morning, Ms. Hooper. I was hoping you'd completed those samples for me." Sherlock stated. She nodded and handed him the paperwork she had been looking over and placed a hand upon her eyes and winced. Sherlock took no notice, at least none of which she saw, but as a sudden wave of nausea caught her she doubled over and Sherlock eyed her with a bit of dismay. "Is something the matter?"

"I'm just not feeling well today." She tried for a smile but feared it came out looking freakish as she couldn't help but wince once more. "I've got a migraine coming on."

"Perhaps you should take the day off if you cannot function." Sherlock stated without any further concern and turned to view his results. Molly stood there for a moment, temporarily aggravated by his obvious lack of concern, but also not in the mood to argue considering. Should I call John? No, she didn't want to worry John with a silly old migraine. She'd make an appointment with one of her doctor associates. Perhaps this afternoon. The sooner I get started on medication the better off I'll be. She decided it would be best, slinking into her office and getting on the phone to schedule her appointment.

The group was once again inside the lab the day Molly got her news. Her phone had rang while she was assisting Sherlock with an x-ray. He seemed disgruntled when she excused herself to take it, but of course he seemed to think his work was more important than anything else that could be going on in London at the time being.

Molly had taken the call in her office. She'd been feeling a bit better, taking the medication the doctor had prescribed her. She was sleeping a lot more though. The meds tended to make her groggy. At least the auras have gone away for the time being...She supposed she should be thankful. Until she got onto the phone. She nearly dropped it as the doctor relayed her results to her. Her CT scan, her bloodwork, now he wanted to do an MRI. She had barely been able to thank the man for his time and place the receiver back into its cradle. She merely leaned upon her desk, taking it all in. Cancer? A tumorous lesion in my brain. How on god's green earth...She felt the wind had been knocked out of her lungs. The room suddenly felt to hot and she struggled to catch her breath before a full on panic attack ensued.

After several minutes, she emerged from her office, coat on, bag about her shoulders and hurrying through the lab. She passed the two men and didn't bother to look back at them. "I've taken ill. I'm going home. I'm sorry." She exited before a word could be spoken. Sherlock glanced up at John, questioning. John shrugged, but feeling a bit concerned longed to go after her and ask if she was okay. Probably better I didn't. I'll leave her be. John sighed and elected to call her later perhaps and make sure she was okay.

Molly sat on her bed, staring out the window of her flat as the cold London rain pelted down in long silvery streaks. I've got a cancerous brain tumor. Bloody figures. Molly didn't know what to do. She wanted to cry, she felt that was proper, but the tears wouldn't come. I'm in shock. That's what it is. As soon as it sinks in that my impending demise is near then I'll be able to cry. Until then I'll just remain...numb I suppose. At least she was thinking somewhat clearly. What's a girl to do with the time she has left? What if its operable? What if it isn't? What do I tell John and Sherlock? Do I even mention it to them? I'm sure they'll catch on eventually. I'll just deal with it until I can't hide it anymore. They probably won't even notice if I just quit and holed up in this flat until it was all over with.

Molly sighed and laid back upon the bed, curling up in the fetal position and continuing to look towards the window. Perhaps I could go stay with mum for a bit. If she's back. She's always traveling. Ever since dad passed away. That thought stung. She felt tears prick her eyes but that was all. She wanted so badly to cry and let all of the anguish out.

Her phone began to ring at her bedside. She picked up up, observing that it was John calling. She sighed, preparing herself and answered. "Hello?"

"Hi, Molly. It's John. I was wondering, are you okay?" He sounded concerned. Molly thanked him silently for being a thoughtful friend.

"I'm feeling a little better. Doctor says I just need to take some meds and get some rest. Then I'll be right as rain. I'll probably be there tomorrow if you guys need any help." Molly lied.

"Oh, okay. If you need anything don't hesitate to call me. Sherlock asked after you by the way." John wasn't a very good liar but Molly appreciated the thought.

"That was nice of him. Tell him I'm well. I'll see you in the morning." Molly physically forced herself to smile just to make her voice sound more believable. "Bye." She hung up not even waiting for John's cordial goodbye answer and laid back upon the bed. Perhaps now is the time to start really living. When you've got so little time left I might as well take those risks I never took and be damned with the results. Molly considered how this applied to Sherlock. That's right where I'll start. I'll tell Sherlock exactly how I feel. What have I got to lose?

Molly decided this thought made her feel a bit better, if not more numb. She drifted off to sleep to the sound of the rain pelting upon her flat, the medicine doing their job and taking over her conscious and subconscious.

If the page breaks didn't appear I apologize. Still trying to get the hang of this thing.

I'm trying this out as one chapter. If anyone likes the angstiness and would like to see where this story goes, then feel free to PM or review and let me know. I'd love to finish the story, I've got lots of great things planned for Molly and her friends, but it's going to be a sad ending nonetheless. Future Sherlolly pairing.

Please please let me know what you think!


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After receiving news of her illness, Molly intends to carry on like nothing is wrong. Until Sherlock goes on one of his infamous rants.

Molly entered the lab, seeing that Sherlock and John were already hard at work on yet another case. She had just taken her MRI a few floors down and that had been a tiring affair. Her head was a dull ache, thankfully deadened by the large amount of medicine her doctor had prescribed her to start on over the last few days. Molly had been anxious to take the test and get it over with. Her doctor had recently put her on a course of medication to hopefully slow the growth of the lesion on her brain, but it had already reached a considerable size. He wasn't even sure if he would be able to operate on it at the size and position it had reached, so the medication had been chosen as a course of action before the chemotherapy would begin.

She slinked in, feeling tired and washed out by the medication and her migraine in general. John looked up from his research in a book and gave her a warm smile. I wonder how bad I look? I don't want them to see anything wrong with me. That would just make things awkward. She returned the smile and felt it was successful as John turned back to his work. Sherlock never even glanced up from his microscope, which seemed to be his point of placement everytime they did work in the lab. "Good morning!" Molly spoke up and winced to herself, wondering if she'd sounded too overenthusiastic.

Sherlock did actually look up from his work and glance in her direction. She felt her heart flip, as it seemed to do everytime that he looked at her. Those blue green brilliant eyes, that genetically perfect face, those cheekbones...his skin was flawless, his long lean fingers were nimble and skilled at their work in the lab. And let's not get me started on that genius mind of his...Molly almost sighed. She was definitely attracted to their entire package, but Sherlock's intellect caused her to absolutely swoon. And swoon she had for going on three years that she had been working along side him at St. Bartholomew's when he requested use of the lab or the morgue for his experiments and casework. "Is it, Ms. Hooper?" Sherlock's eyes seemed to drill into her, searching her, reading her. Sometimes she liked being read, most times not, as Sherlock almost always seemed to deduce the negative about her.

"Um, yes? Why-" She stopped herself. How awful do I look? Does he know? Can he see the cancer eating away at me before even I can? Molly hurried through the lab to her office, leaving the men momentarily. She locked herself in the tiny office bathroom and studied her face. The light was not the most flattering to begin with, but Molly could notice the slight darkness of the circles beneath her eyes and the somewhat pallid color of her skin. She quickly swung her bag around and placed it on the toilet seat, digging out her makeup. She hardly ever wore makeup, but nowadays it seemed to be becoming a necessity considering her condition. She applied it quickly, hoping to make it look natural. She added a bit of lipstick to perk up the color in her lips as well. When she was finished she took a deep breath. Just act natural. You can do this. They won't suspect anything. Before she opened the door, she dug out a pill bottle of painkillers and reluctantly popped one. She could feel the dull ache of her head beginning to intensify and she wished to head it off quickly before it became too much to deal with.

Molly emerged once more, ready to assist. She got herself a bag of crisps and a juice from her mini fridge and drank it down. It seemed to help. She couldn't remember if she had even eaten that morning. She took to the samples that sat in the rack next to Sherlock and reached for them. Sherlock reached at the same time and brushed her hand. She quickly withdrew, blushing. Sherlock merely glanced at her and continued to reach, taking a sample of asphalt that he had collected and handing it to John to be prepared on a slide. Molly took her own sample and began mixing chemicals.

Molly had fully intended two days previous after receiving her news to come right out and confess her love for Sherlock. Now, as she sat next to him in the lab, she still felt her mouth go dry and her pulse race whenever he merely looked at her. She didn't know if she would be able to bring herself to do such a thing. He'll only reject me, like he has indirectly before, and then my heart will be completely shattered. What point would there be after that to go on? I'd just as rather lay down and die. This was a depressing thought but an honest to god thought nonetheless. There's no point. I'd rather just go on thinking that one day he might just come out and say he's loved me all this time. She glanced at him, watching him work. She sighed and slumped her shoulders, and accidently knocked the slide into the floor. "Oh!" She cried and quickly got up from her stool to clean up her mess.

"Which sample was that?" Sherlock questioned. Oh, wonderful. Now instead of him professing his undying love for me he's going to ridicule me for messing up. Lovely. Molly's heart was racing, pounding in her ears. It wasn't helping the headache and apparently neither was the medication she had taken. She quickly tried to pick up the broken test tube and mop up the contents.

"The vegetation." Molly stuttered as she cleaned up. She knew the rest of the sample could not be saved. She'd possibly set them back on a case without even meaning to and it was all her fault for daydreaming about the consulting detective that was none too happy with her.

"For gods sake, Molly! That was the only sample we had from the footprint and now..." Sherlock's voice was rising and he was noticeably angry.

"Sherlock, give her a break. We've still got the other six samples. You've deduced from less than that." John added in, trying to help on Molly's behalf. She stood up, her hair frazzled and disheveled from her frantic cleaning frenzy. Sherlock only scoffed at her.

"If we had capable hands instead of clumsy ones around here work would be completed noticeably quicker." Sherlock frowned at John and turned his temper once again on her. She only stood, her face unsure, watching him. Her migraine was rising in tempo, and her eyesight was swimming. Oh gods, don't let me pass out on top of everything else. "I'm deducing you didn't sleep any last night. I suppose if you stopped with the junk food and crap telly at a reasonable time of night you would be more alert and ready to go in the mornings when we need your sharp eyes and your educated brain for catching the bad guys instead of wading through corpse after corpse. You're senses are being understimulated and dulled from morgue work." Sherlock began on one of his rants.

As Molly listened to him, her temper began to flare. Not that she had much of a temper to begin with, but every once and a while when Sherlock went off on one of ramblings he either brought tears to her eyes or incited a passive aggressive rebellion within her. She'd swear off not working with him again. Then he would show up and pay her a compliment about the way she'd done her hair, or how the sunlight lit up her skin or something halfway intelligible and romantic and she'd melt and change her mind at the drop of a pin. She'd hate herself later for balking on it, but she couldn't help herself around the charms of Sherlock Holmes, if you could call them that.

This time was different. Perhaps it was the headache or the situation she was in, and everything all rolled into one. It was entirely too much to take. She wanted to turn and simply walk out of the lab as she usually did but she was tired of being backed into a corner and berated for being human. "Perhaps a few more years in school you could be doing something more useful with your mind and your time besides postmortems. Really Molly, try to pay more attention to what you're doing so that we don't lose any more possibly useful evidence-"

"Piss off!" Molly suddenly shouted at him. John was obviously stunned but the look on Sherlock's face was priceless. He was absolutely taken aback, his mouth hung open in an O of surprise and awe at the reaction he had NEVER received from one Molly Hooper. Her face was flushed, her chest heaved, her entire stance was bowed up to him. She took a few steps closer and John couldn't help but note that Sherlock seemed to shrink away from her a bit. "How about this for a deduction, detective? You're a horrible man who is a waste when it comes to social etiquette and simply being human. You say absolutely terrible things to people who don't deserve it. Some things shouldn't be said, but you reveal the worst in people merely to get ahead and seem clever. Well, you're not clever, you're absolutely horrid and you should be ashamed of the person you've become." Molly was shouting, although she didn't really realize it. She was seeing red and was unable to pull herself back from it. "If I'm such a horrible lab technician, than find someone else willing to put up with your bullying and berating because I'm finished!" Molly ended and strode into the office to collect her coat and bag and stomped back through the lab. Sherlock and John remained unmoved in their shocked positions.

Molly looked at Sherlock for a moment, as he sat and said nothing, perhaps scared to utter another word and be screamed at once more. I've ruined everything now. I've absolutely messed everything up by speaking my mind. Now he'll hate me. Molly was regretting the things she had just said. She walked up to him, placing her hands on either side of his face. He did not shrink away from her touch, merely searched her eyes with a furrowed brow of confusion and shock. "Oh to hell with it." She whispered and laid a kiss upon his lips. It was quick and close mouthed, but a most exciting feeling for Molly. She held the kiss for a few moments and released him, looking into his eyes once more and then storming quickly out the lab doors.

Sherlock sat in shock on the stool. His eyes wandered over to John's, who mirrored his reaction. "Bloody hell." John noted. He glanced up at the door.

"I-" Sherlock was literally at a loss for words. "I don't know what-"

"You need to apologize, Sherlock. She had a point." John stated. He seemed to get an idea and walked quickly past the consulting detective, catching him by his jacket and dragging him in the direction of the doors. They exited in time to see Molly heading quickly down the hall with her head down. "Molly!" John called after her but she didn't react. They jogged towards her. John elbowed Sherlock. Sherlock picked up quickly.

"Molly!" Sherlock called after her and that caused her to slow. She stood in the silent hallway before she slowly turned. She couldn't look him in the eye. John felt bad for her, she looked so mousy and vulnerable. After a show like that I'm really not surprised. She's probably embarrassed herself.

John elbowed Sherlock again and whispered to him. "Drinks, invite her for a pint. On us. To say sorry."

Sherlock cleared his throat. "Apologies, Ms. Hooper. Please, join us for drinks tonight. Let me make it up to you." He glanced at John as if to say Is that acceptable? John nodded as if he understood.

"Okay." Molly answered. John seemed to relax with relief. "I'll meet you at Coburg's around 7 if that's okay." She quickly turned and left. John watched after her and glanced at Sherlock. Sherlock stared after her, still unable to make heads or tails out of what had just occurred.

"Sounds like you've got a date, Sherlock." John smacked him on the back in a congratulatory way. Sherlock merely shot him a disgruntled look before they headed back inside the lab. As Sherlock sat and stared at the samples on the slides he couldn't help but returned to Molly's reaction and the kiss that had followed. He looked up at John. "What?"

"Any idea what caused all of that?" Sherlock questioned. He could deduce a great many things but women were generally unreadable to him when it came to emotions.

"Probably your lecture of how dull you find her. I don't blame her for being angry." John shook his head. Sometimes he wished that Sherlock would give it a break when it came to his deductions, due to the fact he tended to push them too far.

"I realize that now, I did not intend to make her angry. I was angry about the sample. I've never seen her react in such a way before." Sherlock stated. John smiled.

"She's a woman, Sherlock. She would have blown her top eventually as often as you seem to do it."

"I talk down to her often?" Sherlock looked at John in disbelief. John nodded. Sherlock hadn't even realized it. "I do intend most of it as advice, not a put down."

"Well, you just need to work at it a bit. Work on it tonight as you apologize. It'd better be sincere. I think you really got to her this time." John leaned over and glanced into the microscope. Sherlock pushed everything from his mind so as to concentrate on their work. The kiss remained mulled over within his brain.

Molly burst into her apartment, nearly in a panic. I screamed at Sherlock Holmes. And then I kissed him. And then he invited me for drinks?! What the bloody hell? She was holding her head in her hands, the migraine full on. She'd began to notice the auras again on the cab ride home. Bloody hell, I'm a mess. I'd better take a nap.

Molly undressed, slipping into sweats and undoing her pony tail as she sat on her bed. She glanced at the clock. She had a few hours before she needed to get ready to meet the boys at the pub. Maybe I won't go. I'll just stay home. My head...

Suddenly a new attitude took hold of Molly. I said I was going to do things without abandon. Telling Sherlock how I feel was on that list. Although I meant in a loving way, not at how horrible he makes me feel sometimes. She crawled under the covers, glancing again at the clock and at the medicine bottles that adorned her bedside table. Can I even drink on all of this medication? Probably not. Hell, why not? Maybe it'll speed up the process and spare me the embarrassment of another day like today. She threw the covers up over her head.

As she started to calm, the medicine finally dulling the sharp stabbing pains within her temples, another thought drifted through and she couldn't help but smile. I kissed Sherlock Holmes. I kissed him and he didn't pull away. His lips were soft and velvety and...oh. I actually kissed Sherlock Holmes. She smiled as she replayed that one singular thought in her mind and drifted off to sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Molly meets the guys for drinks, getting a little tipsy and making a profession Sherlock doesn't really know how to take.

Chapter 3

 

Molly's head was beginning to feel fuzzy. She sipped down the rest of her harvey wallbanger as she sat at the bar on the wobbly stool and raised a hand to the bartender. He approached her once more, an amused expression on his face. "Another miss?" He asked. 

"Yes, please." Molly was not quite near the point of slurring her words as of yet but she was getting close. The bartender set to making her another drink and she took the moment drinkless to glance around the pub. She noted that the crowd had grown as had the noise level, but there was no sign of her friends as of yet. She turned back around to note the bartender had prepared her drink and placed it neatly on a napkin in front of her. "Thank you, sir."

"My pleasure, love." The bartender answered, his smile only growing as he looked her up and down. Molly set to sipping it right away. It was rather good. Why haven't I done this before? This is normal thing people do, go out, have drinkies with their friends. Enjoy themselves. She sipped faster. Beats sitting at home watching telly with a cup of tea and a book at least on occasion.   
Molly had decided after her nap that she would indeed meet John and Sherlock at the pub. After all, it was only good manners to do so after being invited. She dreaded the getting ready process, as the medicine was in full swing and making her groggy, but she managed to pull herself out of bed, step into a shower, and dress. She picked out a lovely red knit sweater and a pair of dressier jeans than she was used to. She even went as far as to wear the only pair of heels she owned, which she usually reserved for Christmas Party occasions, or weddings or funerals. She wasn't the dress up type. She had applied her makeup in a hurry and rushed out the door to hail a cab at around 5 pm, arriving at the pub around 5:15 pm. 

She had stood outside the pub and simply gazed at the sign for an extended amount of time before willing herself to enter. It was awkward, entering a pub by herself at this time of night, as it wasn't something she normally did, but the bartender had been kind, making light conversation and starting her on a pint of her favorite before she had moved up to something stronger. 

By the time Sherlock and John entered the pub at around 6:50, Molly was on her third harvey wallbanger and giggling. She took John and Sherlock both completely by surprise by the state of her. "Good evening, Molly." John started, as Sherlock stood looking rather uncomfortable and perhaps a little bored. 

"Hello!" Molly smiled at John and threw her arms about his neck in a friendly hug. John laughed, glad to see her in better spirits and not looking quite so tired. She released him and turned to Sherlock, to which her smile and perkiness faltered, even under the influence of the alcohol. She peered up into his set face, and said nothing. Sherlock shifted his weight awkwardly, his demeanor hard to read. "Evening." Molly stated, somewhat slurred, but still not quite completely sloshed. Sherlock's expression softened.

"Good evening, Ms. Hooper." Sherlock responded, barely audible over the roar of the pub crowd that was beginning to grow even larger on this weeknight. Molly reached out to give him a friendly hug as well and as Sherlock awkwardly embraced her and allowed her to throw her arms about his lean neck as well, the kiss flashed once again across his mind. The hug lasted but a few seconds before Molly picked up her drink and followed John over to a small table in the corner where the three of them could better visit. 

"So glad you joined us, Molly." John began. She smiled and could honestly say that she was feeling much better, physically and emotionally. Perhaps the alcohol had a hand in it but she felt better than she had in days nonetheless. John proceeded to make small talk with her, and Sherlock simply sat, sipping his beer and saying nothing, simply observing. And deducing. And reading me. Can he read the despair in me? Even now, I know I'm drunk, I can hardly form these sentences within my own head and yet even I notice when he's boring a hole through me. 

"To the very heart of me." Molly slurred out loud. John gave a confused look, Sherlock centered his gaze at her curiously. "Sorry, I've had a few."

"We can tell." John chuckled. He glanced over at Sherlock, and then over at the corner. "Ah! I believe that's Cassandra! Haven't seen her in ages. Sherlock, I'll leave you two to it for a bit, if you don't mind." John got off of the stool around the small table and made for a group of people over on the other side of the pub.

"Actually-" Sherlock began and quickly gave up, knowing what John was up to. Sherlock looked once again at Molly, who sat at the table, finishing her drink and gazing off into the crowd, swaying a bit to whatever song was playing on the jukebox in the corner. Should I ask about the kiss? No, no. John said I need to begin with an apology and make it sincere. Dammit, John...Sherlock knew he had done something unkind but he was not good at the social game whatsoever. He took his social cues from his companion and without him here he feared he might upset Molly further. That wouldn't do. "Molly," Sherlock began. She turned and looked at him, glass still tilted to her mouth as she sipped. "I wanted to apologize for earlier today, in the lab." Molly paused and lowered her drink. Oh yes, when you told me how I'm wasted on you because I'm clumsy. I remember. Molly had nearly forgotten during her drinkies about the entire reason she had been invited. "It was wrong of me to come off as I did. I was upset about the sample and I took it out on you." Sherlock looked into her eyes, never noticing the warm shade of autumn brown that ringing her ebony pupils. Molly really was an open book, and yet Sherlock had failed to read past her usual eccentric fashion sense and everyday etiquette. He nearly lost his train of thought. "I'm sorry."  
Molly squinted at him momentarily, as if trying to discern whether he was simply saying this because John had coached him on it or whether it was sincere. Sherlock rarely apologized for anything. Well, except for his rant at the Christmas party last year. That's the closest I've ever heard him come to an apology. "You're forgiven." She spoke softly, as even remembering his words stung her but she realized his apology combined with the slightly pained look upon his face meant it was honest.  
Sherlock tried for a smile and came out with an awkward side grin that Molly became amused at. He crinkled his brow as she giggled. It was a rather delightful sound, especially coming from her after his putting her off. "Do I make you feel this way often?" He questioned and took a drink. This conversation bit isn't really that hard.   
Molly cleared her throat, her giggle dying off. "To be honest, yes. You say such horrible things on an almost daily basis. Most days I just let it roll off of my back, but somedays you can be especially cruel." Oh, Molly, don't anger him. He's just been gracious enough to apologize to you and now you're going to chastise him all over again! Molly stopped herself before she continued, but it was getting harder to do so with the alcohol almost completely taking over her conscious thought.  
"I don't mean to make you feel bad." Sherlock looked sullen, as if he'd just realized how mean he had actually been. "Mostly I'm just doing what comes naturally. The way it's taken is not always the way it was meant to be taken." Sherlock downed the rest of his drink. Molly watched him with interest.

"I will try harder to take your comments as constructive criticism if you try harder to not be such a dick about it." Molly sputtered and the choice of words her brain had chose to fly out of her mouth also caused her to laugh. She couldn't believe how rash she was being. Then again, I'm going to be dead soon so what the bloody hell does it matter? There was a sobering thought. Sherlock was looking at her cautiously once more. "Sorry, you're not always a dick, most times your rather cunning, and you have a dick. I mean, wow, I didn't, I was trying to turn that into a joke..." Molly gave up with another fit of laughter at her verbal diarrhea and Sherlock didn't know whether to smile or to be upset at what was being said.

John returned after giving them a few moments and noted the state of Molly. She was having a rather good time, and John and Sherlock joined her in conversation, which didn't make much sense considering. She also decided to get into a game of darts, which ended quickly when she threw the dart to hard and it stuck near some poor pubcrawler's head, and then she even belted out a rendition of "Wake Me Up" by WHAM! on the karaoke, which brought many cheers from fellow drinkers.

Molly was truly enjoying herself, even though she doubted she would remember any of it. She had sat back down on the stool and suddenly felt an overwhelming bout of nausea hit her like a fist and she nearly puked all over the floor. John took hold of her, noting her condition and nodded to Sherlock, who took her up around the waist and helped lead her out of the pub and onto the street. No sooner had she gotten out of the building then she managed to upchuck all over the cornerstone. Sherlock instinctively held back her hair that she had decided to leave down for a change as she threw up all of the remaining alcohol within her belly. When she had finished and swerved herself upright and around to face them, John had already hailed a cab for her. "I'd better go with her in the state she's in." She faintly heard Sherlock stating to John. John apparently had agreed as Sherlock helped her into the cab and crawled in beside her, stating the address.

What have I done to myself? What an embarrassment. I've made a fool of myself. Molly felt herself flushing, felt the sweat cooling on her brow, felt the nausea still gripping her stomach tightly and coming in bile flavored waves. She grimaced at the feeling. She needed to get horizontal, sitting up was making the world spin sickeningly. She laid down on the seat, her head involuntarily ending up in Sherlock's lap. He made no move to resituate her, only sat and placed his hand protectively upon her brow to sweep her hair out of her eyes and allowed her to doze as they rode towards her flat.

Molly didn't remember Sherlock helping her out of the cab and into her flat. Nor did she remember him helping her into the bedroom. Molly had instinctively began to strip off her clothing, as if Sherlock wasn't even present. He had been gracious enough not to take advantage of the situation and peek, instead he held the comforter and sheet up to shield her as she slid into the bed and he covered her up. He stayed with her momentarily to make sure she would be okay in her state. He made to move away from the bed and she took hold of his hand. "Don't leave." She called to him. He turned, wondering what he should do. He supposed if he had to he could sit in the armchair over by the window until she finally fell asleep. He sat on the edge of the bed, curious as to what state she was in. "I don't want to be alone. I'm always alone..." Her voice whimpered off. 

"Can you hear me, Molly?" Sherlock asked. She nodded and moaned a bit in response. "Are you feeling okay?" She shook her head no, her hair becoming a mess upon the pillow as she did so. "Do you remember today in the lab when you shouted at me?" Molly shook her head yes. That irked him. He had hoped that she would get move past it. Perhaps if she remembered his apology she would. "Do you remember afterwards?" Molly nodded. "What happened afterwards?"

"I kissed you..." Molly was smiling. "Silly." She chuckled. He couldn't help but smile at that once again strangely delightful sound. "I kissed you and it was amaaaazing." Sherlock was taken aback.

"You've wanted to kiss me?" Sherlock seemed shocked by this revelation. He knew Molly fancied him, but he'd hoped that it would fade with time. Sentiment was something he couldn't be bothered with.

"Yes, but you'd never let me. Time is running out and so I did. I kissed you. I'd do it again." Molly sat up shakily in the bed, Sherlock sat on the edge of the bed to steady her, afraid in her drunken state she might tumble out as she was near the edge. She took his face in her hands again and he noted the tears that were beginning to fall on her pale cheeks. "I know you don't care. You don't care, but I love you. For nearly three years. Ever since you stepped foot into that lab." She laughed again. "I'm so ridiculous and stupid and I'm sorry. I've been in love with you for so long and I know you will never love me back but there. I said it." Molly shook his face for her amusement, as most inebriated seem to do. Sherlock gazed at her with widened confused eyes. "You don't love anyone and I've no one to love and we are perfect friends because of it. I should be more open more often. I feel better. Now you know and I can stop pretending that you care." She was fully crying now, and laughing through it all the same. Sherlock felt pained, and it was an unfamiliar feeling for him. She laughed. "I'd kiss you again, right now, but I taste bad and I've been sick. I'm still sick." She released his face and laid back down, turning on her side away from him, sniffling. 

Sherlock didn't know what to say, how to react. Drunken confessions were rarely something to gather much from, but Molly was not the lying type and he knew that she often became flimsy and vulnerable and flittery when she was around him. Either he made her very nervous or he simply excited her. Molly took a deep breath and sighed it out before Sherlock noted the soft snoring of unconsciousness. Once again he was baffled by the female psyche. He waited a few more moments before leaving her to her sleep, hailing a cab and heading back to 221B Bakerstreet, unsure of what to do with this newfound and newly professed knowledge.

Molly didn't dream, only slept, her tear stained cheeks flushed with the redness of inebriation. She would scarcely remember her profession of love on the morrow. Perhaps Sherlock would not forget it.

I hope you didn't think the ending to this chapter was too corny. I wanted to show that Sherlock is awakening to the feelings that Molly has for him that he's always blocked. And that Molly was able to let loose a little and have a few drinkies, which is not normally like her. Her profession, although laced with the humor of being tipsy hurt even for me to write it because considering all that is about to happen to her, the two of them will be forever changed. 

Next chapter, Molly awakes after her night out and her drunkeness with somewhat of a scare as well as a shocking result.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Molly awoke late the next morning, head pounding, unable to remember how she had gotten into her bed and also why she had decided to go to sleep in her bra and panties. She had a routine, always getting a shower and her pajamas on before she went to bed. Never in her underwear. What in the world happened last night? She attempted to roll over to view the time on her alarm clock and winced at the movement. Her stomach was rolling and her head was painful fuzzy mess. Her body didn't seem to be cooperating with her. When she was able to open her eyes wide enough in the brightness of her small bedroom, she groaned at the time that glared back at her in red neon numerals. 10:25. Oh gods, my boss is going to murder me. She reached up and put a hand to her head. The pressure building up in her temples was reaching astronomical levels. She feared she would puke if she attempted to move anymore. Never again. Never again will I drink. She wondered if the meds had caused her hangover to intensify. She knew better than to consume alcohol while on the amount of medicine she was currently on but frankly last night she didn't care.

What happened last night? She remembered arriving at the pub early so as to beat the guys there and loosen up a bit before the awkwardness of the conversation started. She remembered Sherlock's apology and something about singing karaoke. Past that everything was a swimming blur. I hope I didn't make too much of an ass of myself. Surely John had accompanied her home in her drunken state and she had taken it from there. She hoped.

She lay in the bed for a few more minutes, getting her bearings, mentally chiding herself and calming her stomach with a mind of matter mentality. She sat up and fingercombed her long hair back. She glanced once more over at the bedside table beside her. There lay a couple of aspirin, a glass of water, and a handwritten note. She picked it up and read:

Please call once you've awoken. This will calm your head.

SH

Her mouth dropped open in surprise. Sherlock Holmes had brought her home? Surely John had been with him. He rarely goes anywhere without him. She moaned in agony and embarrassment and facepalmed herself. Surely he hadn't stayed long enought to see me strip...She decided she didn't want to finish that sentence even if it was inside her head. She laid down the note and took the aspirin with the entire glass of water. She was sure she was dehydrated, the water tasted sweet. I'd better get with it. She encouraged herself and picked up her cell phone that had been placed beside the pills on the bedside. She considered for a moment. Had Sherlock seen her medicine bottles or anything? He was so damned observant. Perhaps her secret was out. She felt her heart rise up in her throat at the thought. Well, he'll find out one way or another I suppose. She dialed the lab number. It rang a few times before John's voice answered on the other end. "St. Bartholomew's laboratory."

"Hi, John. It's Molly. Just checking in." Molly choked out. John seemed to sigh on the other end. She heard him speaking to someone else. Perhaps it was Sherlock, she could almost be sure.

"So glad to hear you're okay. It's not like you not to not show and phone. Of course after last night, I didn't expect you here at your normal time." John sounded humored.

"I'm sorry. Thanks for looking out for me last night though. And tell Sherlock that I appreciate him making sure I got home okay." Molly answered.

"He seems relieved to hear you're alive and well." John spoke. Molly sneered at the irony of that answer but knew that John didn't know any better. "Do you need anything?"

"No, no. I'm going to drag myself out of bed and into the shower and then I'll be there. Hope I haven't set you two back on anything." Molly stretched and yawned.

"We're doing fine here. Although I'm sure Sherlock is anxious to have you in the lab. He's itching for you to pull out a few bodies for an experiment if you're willing." John was rolling his eyes, she knew it.

"All in a day's work. I'll see you soon. Bye." Molly smiled as she hung up the phone. It was nice to have a seemingly normal day ahead of her. If she could get to her medicine and douse this damned hangover headache. She made to move her legs out from under the comforter. Her left leg responded and landed on the floor, her right did not. She stared at her right leg. How funny, perhaps I slept on it and it's merely asleep? I didn't notice it before. She felt of the leg, noticing there was no feeling all the way up to where her thigh met her groin. Panic gripped her heart with icy cold hands and took hold. Didn't the doctor say this would happen? I'd start to lose control, motor function, but this quick?! What do I do?! She felt completely helpless. She struggled to make the leg move with her mind. It did not respond. She began to sob, fearful of her situation. She couldn't call John, that would reveal something was wrong. She picked up the phone and dialed her mom. The phone rang endlessly with no voicemail on the other end. Well, damn. She's traveled again, she'll be gone a week this time. I'd forgotten.

Molly sat in her bed, one leg upon the floor, the other laying lifeless within the bed, crying. She hadn't been able to cry, at least soberly that she knew of. She cried for five minutes. Ten minutes. Twenty minutes. She struck at the leg again. No feeling. She picked up her cell phone one last time and dialed her doctor. Realizing that she was in a panic, the nurse connected her with the doctor immediately. He reassured her that it was a symptom, yes, but that if she were to take this pill and that pill the swelling upon her brain would lessen some and perhaps it would help. Did she want him to call an ambulance? No. She would try the medicine first. She hung up the phone and looked towards the bathroom. She had hidden the pills in her makeup bag so that anyone who visited, who was no one hardly ever, would mistakingly find them.

She moved the right leg out onto the floor and made to stand, thinking perhaps the leg would remember and awaken naturally. This didn't happen, and Molly ended up falling into the floor. She cried out as she fell. She laid in the floor and cried some more, feeling more angry than anything else now. Why was this happening to her? What had she done to deserve this? Why couldn't she just admit to someone that something was happening instead of trudging on alone and dealing with situations such as this on her own? She hated herself in that moment. She looked up towards the bathroom, wiped the tears from her eyes and proceeded to half crawl, half drag herself to the tiled floor. She pulled herself up onto the toilet seat and knocked her makeup bag off the shelf of the cabinet. She found the medications she had been instructed to take and swallowed down the pills. She calmed herself with a few more deep breaths and leaned the other way, starting herself a shower. She knew she wouldn't be able to stand, but she'd be damned if she wasn't going to clean herself up after last nights catastrophe.

When the water had warmed, she stripped off her bra and panties and pulled herself into the tub, laying under the running water and closing her eyes. She drifted, her headache easing, her thoughts becoming clearer. She didn't know if it was the medicine, the shower, or the clarity of her situation that was causing her to become more like herself. She grabbed the washcloth and proceeded to wash up. She glanced down at her right leg. It was tingling, as if it was been asleep for a prolonged amount of time. She willed it to move with her mind and slowly she raised it to meet her outstretched hands to scrub the length of it. She cried out in victory, a tear stained smile upon her face. The meds had worked, or the sheer willpower she had within her had forced it to. She felt relieved.

Twenty minutes later she stood up out of the shower, and toweled off carefully. The meds had helped her regain use of her leg, but they always made her groggy and wistful. She wrapped the towel about her and started out to the phone once more. She noted five missed calls from the lab. Probably my boss. She can suck an egg. I'm on my way. She dialed her doctor once more and told the nurse that she was okay, the issue was resolved. The doctor wanted to see her the following day. She wrote the appointment time down. She hung up and eyed the missed calls once more. Piss off. I'll just get dressed and go in. If she wants to speak to me she can do it there.

Molly padded slowly once more to the bathroom and was in the process of drying her hair when Sherlock appeared quickly around the corner. She screamed and jumped at the sight of him and he seemed equally taken aback at the sight of her in a towel bent over and drying her hair. She turned off the hair dryer and leaned on the sink, feeling faint and stoked on adrenaline all at the same time. "What are you doing here?!" She breathed, her hand across her chest to still her racing heart.

"I'm sorry. You hadn't showed. It's been over an hour since you phoned and John was worried you'd fallen back asleep." Sherlock stood up straighter, hands clasped behind his back. "I needed to run back to Bakerstreet to fetch my papers, so I figured I'd swing by and check to make sure all was well."

Sherlock checking up on me? Molly's heart did a little dance at the thought. "I'm fine, I didn't mean to worry anyone." She stood, vulnerable and feeling nearly naked in front of the consulting detective. "I just took a little longer to get out of bed is all." She clutched the towel and held it close to her to prevent it from falling.

"Well, then. If you don't mind I'll wait in the living room and accompany you back to St. Bartholomew's? Save on cab fare." Sherlock nodded to her and back out of the bedroom towards the living room. Molly took a deep breath and smiled to herself. There's always a silver lining. I hope I can remember that when things begin to get worse.

"I'll take that skin sample now if you're ready for me to." Molly stated as she came around the corner of the lab counter carrying her kit of test tubes and chemicals. Sherlock glanced up from his microscope and nodded, giving her a small smile as he handed over said sample to her. She took it and quickly applied herself to mixing up the chemicals and diving into her work. Sherlock looked after her for a moment in a sideways glance.

He'd had a lot to think about after leaving Molly's flat last night. Her profession of love had been a shock to him, although the longer he'd thought about it the more it occurred to him that he should have known. He had known ever since his deduction of her at Christmas that she had a crush on him, but it appeared her infatuation went deeper than he had expected. He had had woman callers before, although he'd had no interest in them. There were far too many pressing things in the world to study and deduce than a woman's horomonal meanderings. John was the only other human being he could possibly tolerate on a daily basis, but he figured that was partly because John understood him and knew when to argue and when to back off. He knew he was a difficult and rather blunt person emotionally.

After realizing that he had hurt Molly's feelings after she had put him firmly in his place, he had begun to look at her somewhat differently. Here is a woman who has given up countless hours of her time to assist me. Who has the intellect to be able to correctly identify things and help me figure out something after death. She's also the woman who helped me to fake my death not so long ago. No one else would have been trustworthy enough. Sherlock cocked his head as he thought, taking turns between looking into his microscope and observing Molly as she worked. Why would any woman be so patient with me? Especially when I've hurt her so?

John came up beside Sherlock and for once he didn't notice. "Sherlock." John had been calling to him and he hadn't noticed that either. He glanced up to an amused John Watson. "Feeling okay there?"

"Of course. What is it?" He cleared his throat and straightened up as to shake off the thoughts he was having and concentrate on the task at hand.

"Can you deduce anything about her?" John asked. He motioned to Molly. "Something's different about her but I can't place it. Yelling back at you like she did, which I applaud her for, by the way. Drinking to excess, not showing up after checking in an hour before...I'm wondering if there's something up." John watched her cautiously, not wanting her to know.

Sherlock glanced back at her. She seemed herself, although perhaps a little paler and spacier than normal. He figured it was the hangover that was causing her to be this way. He thought back to the kiss.. "I can't place anything different about her. Not any more than usual. Perhaps she's just had a rough week." Sherlock found the words strange as they came out of his mouth. Molly glanced up and his eyes widened as if he'd been caught. She smiled at him and grabbed something else she needed before going back to it.

"Hmm, perhaps. Although I wouldn't call a kiss after a lecture a rough week." John smiled and patted Sherlock on the shoulder before turning back to the book he'd been studying. Sherlock stared at the microbes moving about on the slide in his microscope. He was becoming completely curious. He needed to find out why she was so stuck on him and why he couldn't place why something seemed off.

Hours later, Molly was tired and ready for a cup of tea and the warmth of her bed. She flipped off lights and took hold of her coat. She leaned on her desk for a moment and let herself rest. She was finding it difficult to function at the hours she used to keep. If the cancer doesn't kill me, the meds will. She put on her coat and exited the office to find the two men preparing to leave as well. "Good night, Molly. Hope to see you soon." John smiled and gave her a friendly peck on the cheek before he and Sherlock started out the door.

"Yeah, you too." She smiled tiredly, trying to make it seem as perky as she normally felt. She was straining lately and it made her sad. She started down the hallway the opposite way, hoping to exit the back of St. Bartholomew's and catch a cab from the back alley. She didn't know if she had the energy to walk all the way down the other end of the hospital as she normally did.

"Molly," She heard that deep baritone voice call after her. She stopped and turned, confused to see Sherlock walking up to her, coat and scarf in place as they always were. She loved that scarf, and wondered what it would feel like to nuzzle into it in a hug. Sherlock looked awkward once more, and she smiled genuinely up at him. "I was wondering if you'd want to join me after work one night for dinner. Perhaps not tonight, as you seem a bit tired. I'm sure the hangover still has you." He gave her an uncomfortable grin. She was taken aback. Am I even awake? Has this entire day perhaps been a dream? There's no way on god's green earth that Sherlock Holmes is asking me...

"Really?" Was all she could answer in disbelief. Sherlock didn't appear to know how to answer that, as he was probably expecting a yes or no. "I mean, I'd love to. I'm sorry, it's been a long day..." Molly ran her hand across her brow, the headache beginning to strengthen once more. They were almost constant now.

"Brilliant." He smiled at her. I've actually asked a woman out on a date. I'm growing by leaps and bounds as well it would seem. Sherlock took her hand and gave it a chaste kiss upon it. "Perhaps tomorrow?" Molly nodded and smiled widely. Her blood was afire with excitement. "I look forward to it, Ms. Hooper. Good evening." Sherlock released her and headed down the hallway, placing his hands in his pockets as he did so. Molly watched after him until he disappeared around the corner. Possibly to where John was waiting. She smiled. A date with Sherlock Holmes. My silver lining. Molly turned and headed out the back door and towards the street with hope in her heart and an ache in her temple.

This is a tragedy, but I'm planning on a few happy surprises for Molly before this is all over with. Next chapter will be Molly and Sherlock's date, and new revelations. :)


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Molly leaned over the sink, staring at herself in the mirror and applying her lipstick. She was feeling more tired than usual, but she had just taken her medication again and was hoping it would kick in before Sherlock arrived to take her out. I've a date with Sherlock Holmes. She still couldn't believe it. She felt a little strange, as though perhaps she was just being set up as his guinea pig, but the thought that it would be the two of them out together made her heart race. She smiled, tiredly but she worked on it and made it believably brighter.

She heard a knock upon the door and her eyes widen with nervousness. She checked herself once more in the mirror and hurried to the door to answer it. She swung it open and nearly lost her balance in her heels, the ones she seemed to be breaking out more often as of late. Sherlock stood, hands in coat pockets, scarf wrapped about his neck, hair a mess of curls about his head. He gave her a grin and a small bow. "Molly." He stated.

"Do come in! I'm about ready." Molly moved to the side and allowed Sherlock to enter the flat. She closed the door behind him and as she turned she lost her balance, nearly tripping over herself. Sherlock caught her and held her firmly about her waist before she could topple over. He looked down on her with a grin. "Sorry." She replied mousely, her cheeks flushing red with embarrassment. It seemed that she was losing some motor function here and there more and more lately. The numbness in limbs wasn't the end of it. Her balance was off, her memory seemed to be failing. Her meds were being upped and added to weekly. "Perhaps I'll leave the heels." She sighed as he released her and she headed back into the bedroom.

She removed the heels and frowned in disdain. She had gotten all dolled up and the sundress and cardigan she'd chosen, red flowered pattern that brought out the reddish in her hair as well as the brightness of her red lipstick, had gone perfectly with the heels she believed made her somewhat pale legs look picturesque. She dug out her black flats and donned them instead. No use in breaking an ankle just to impress your date. She took hold of her clutch and met Sherlock once more as he stood and observed his surroundings in her living room.

He looked her over as she stood sheepishly in front of him. She is a rather beautiful woman. If beauty mattered there would be no contest in that. Sherlock grinning at her and offered up his arm. "Shall we, Ms. Hooper?" She entwined her arm with his and walked with him out to hail the cab.

Sherlock first took her to an art show that was taking place in the artsy district, as he knew that Molly was a fan. The show consisted of local artists sitting and painting various things and selling their wares, displaying their work. Molly gasped with excitement when Sherlock had stopped the cab and helped her out. She was in heaven. How did he know? Molly smiled like a child in a toy shop back at him and he returned the smile due to seeing her so happy with his choice on this date. They walked through and looked at the exhibits and discussed them here and there. Molly was pleased to find Sherlock so well versed in the ways of art.

Molly came across one such painting of a woman who seemed so at peace with herself. It wasn't a self portrait of the artist, but it somehow spoke to her. She loved the colors, the setting of the sun as it shown in on the woman who had the most peaceful expression upon her face as she sat facing the oncoming night through the other window. She spoke to the tender, asking how much. She made to open her clutch, but Sherlock put out his hand. He produced his wallet and paid for the painting in full, a pretty penny that Molly was shocked to see him pony up. For me. Molly smiled and hugged him close. Sherlock hesitated but took her into his arms and returned the thankful hug.

The show also consisted of music variances. People playing all kinds of instruments and all sorts of styles of music. Molly felt so exhilirated and alive as they passed through, taking it all in. Instruments from people who had handcrafted them were also available. Molly was observing some beautifully constructed guitars when she heard the most beautiful music floating up from behind her. She turned, only to realize that Sherlock had taken up a violin and was playing it exquisitely. She listened intently until he had finished and set the violin down once more, some applause from people close being returned. He smiled at her, pleased that she had enjoyed it and he took up her hand once more as they continued to view the show. "Hungry?" He leaned in and asked, his breath upon her ear and sending chills up her spine. She nodded and he lead her towards the street and hailed another cab to take her to the next part of their date.

Sherlock and Molly sat outside of the restaurant on the terrace overlooking the river Thames. Sherlock enjoyed this place on occasion, but didn't know if Molly had ever come. It was rather pricey, if not just for the view. She sat peering out at the stars as the waiter approached and offered wine or some other drink. Sherlock cocked his head at her. "Some champagne?" Molly asked. Sherlock ordered something that had the word "asti" in it and turned his attention back to her. The couple fell silent. Molly was trying to take everything in and finding it difficult.

"Are you enjoying yourself?" Sherlock asked, his voice deep and rumbling as it always seemed to be. Why is simply his voice able to do such things to me? Molly was getting carried away. Her body was responding to his voice and his touch, of which she had had a lot more than usual on this day. She blushed at the thought.

"Yes, thank you very much. And thank you for the painting. You didn't have to do that." Molly smiled and fidgeted with nervousness once more. The waiter arrived, pouring two glasses of the champagne over strawberries within the flutes. She stared at it in wonder of how delicious it looked. Sherlock took hold of his glass and raised it, motioning for her to do the same.

"You were very pleased with it." Sherlock stated as she raised her glass. "A toast. To our friendship and to getting to know each other better." Sherlock grinned and Molly nodded as they clinked the glasses together and drank. It tasted heavenly and sweet.

"I've never had champagne before." Molly sighed. She took another sip, then thought better of letting herself get too tipsy too quick and set the glass down. Sherlock sipped and looked at her.

"Really? Why ever not?" He inquired as he drank. Molly shrugged.

"I've only ever drank beer or wine. Champagne can be a bit pricey for my taste. I prefer tea." Molly smirked. Sherlock watched her as she gazed back out over the river. The kiss, ask her about the kiss. His mind was irking him to and yet he refused to give in to it so soon. He didn't want to scare her off. She was timid enough as it was. Yet...she looks so lost. Something is bothering her but I cannot make out what it could be. This thought bothered him. He was awakening to feelings he had never felt before for anyone else.

"If I may..." Sherlock asked before clearing his throat. They paused as the food was brought. Molly took a bite, relishing in the taste of the meat and vegetables and how they were prepared. She fully intended to enjoy ever minute she had left on the planet, and tonight was no exception. She was sharing this experience with the one she had loved for nearly three years. She would relish it all. "May I ask what possessed you to kiss me the other day in the lab?"

The question caught Molly offguard and she nearly choked on her food. She wiped her mouth timidly with her napkin. To hell with it, Molly. Just tell him. Things aren't getting any better for you in a physical sense. Live life with no regrets. Molly looked up to see him watching her intently, trying to read her but she figured she was doing a pretty good job at not giving anything away. "I had just berated you and called you horrible names for chastising me over something that was completely my fault. I felt I owed you an apology."

Sherlock raised his eyebrows. That was one heck of a wordless apology. He hadn't been able to get the replayed moment out of his head since it had happened. This was unusual for him. He was allowing sentiment to take over, and was finding that he felt for Molly, in more than a usual friendly sense as he did John. He felt protective of John, he loved John as his lifelong companion, but he didn't love John in a romantic sense. This was a different emotion entirely. "You had no need to apologize to me for that. I am slowly coming to the realization that I can be quite brutal when it comes to my deductions and dealings with people. I'm working on it." They ate in silence for a few minutes. He glanced back up at her. "If you had the chance, would you do it again?" Sherlock asked, avoiding eye contact.

Molly stared at him full on once more. She was in shock. Was Sherlock Holmes asking her to kiss him again? "Now?"

Sherlock dropped his fork. "No, um, well. No. I meant..." He was flustered. That's a rarity. "I meant, if you could go back and do that moment over again would you change it? Or would you do it again?" He picked up the fork, his eyes met hers.

"Yes." Molly answered. Honesty was taking over her better judgement. "Even if I wasn't trying to smooth things over with you I would do it again." She sighed. Her face was red with both embarrassment and excitement. Sherlock only looked at her, his brilliant blue eyes searching her face. Perhaps he is waiting for me to break out into laughter as if I'm joking or something. I most definitely am not. "I think you might have been something I'd be good at." Molly was a little shocked at the words that were pouring off of her champagne sweetened lips. Sherlock watched them intently, feeling a strange urge to take hold of her across the table and kiss her, but resisted. He didn't know what to make of the situation either. "So..." Molly sighed, tired of being honest about her feelings for the moment. "Tell me where you learned to play such beautiful music."

The cab arrived back at Molly's flat nearly two hours later. The conversation between the two had turned to one of music, books, growing up, Mycroft, and Molly's family. A lot of information had been exchanged and learned between the two. They exited the cab laughing as it would seem, and neither of them were inebriated. Sherlock walked Molly to the door and stood there in the moonlight with her upon her steps. "Thank you, Sherlock. I had a wonderful time." She swung the bag with the painting within it, wrapped in brown paper and ready to hang upon her wall. She'd already picked out the perfect spot for it. "And thank you for the painting."

"You're more than welcome, Molly." Sherlock smiled at her. "I enjoyed the company. Perhaps you'd like to come out with me again sometime?" Molly looked taken aback.

"I must not have been that bad of a date then." Molly laughed. When she looked up at the consulting detective, his eyes were burning into hers. She couldn't read him like he could read others. If only I knew what he was thinking. Perhaps he thinks I'm a fool. I'm just a mousey little girl who makes horrible jokes and professions of wanting to kiss him over dinner.

"I suppose I'll be off then." Sherlock looked a bit awkward in that moment. As if he didn't know how to go in for the goodnight kiss or whether he should even try. Why do I have to be so damned anxious when it comes to a kiss? It's not like its rocket science to kiss someone goodnight. In that moment as he looked down on Molly and noted her smile, the warmth of her skin in the moonlight, the way her brown eyes smiled, he wanted nothing more than to kiss her. He took hold of her hand once more, bringing it slowly to his lips and placing a kiss upon it once more as she watched him. "Good night and thank you for a delightful time, Molly Hooper." He released her hand and turned.

In that moment, Molly decided to take control of her fate this night. She was feeling groggy, fuzzy in the head from her medicine. Her right leg was beginning to tingle as it was doing more and more of nowadays and the headache had started slightly in her forehead this time. Molly found that it moved often until it encompassed her entire skull. She would take her meds and fight off the oncoming onslaught, but in this moment. In the now. She would take control of something else.

She took hold of Sherlock's coat sleeve and pulled, causing him to turn towards her once more. She took his soft face within her hands, running her thumbs lightly over his defined cheekbones, gazing deeply into his sapphire blue eyes that burned with a fire that one could only call desire. She knew because she felt it pooling within her as it had countless times before, but had never been expressed or directed. She pulled him into a deep kiss, letting her fingers slide into his soft curls as she did so, closing her eyes so as to take the moment in fully with every sensation left in her body. Sherlock leaned into the kiss, placing his hands upon the small of her back and pulling her close as she kissed him passionately and lovingly.

She only released him after what could have possibly been a very long while. She searched his eyes, find the fire still burning there and smiled at him. "Never leave a girl without a good night kiss." She began to step away but he would not allow it. He held onto her as if he wasn't sure what to do with her. Wondering where the boundaries ended with her. He ran his finger upon her bottom lip, feeling the fullness and velvetiness of them as he did so. He hungered, but he was a gentleman and would not even think of proposing..."You could always show me in." Molly's voice was low and breathy and surprisingly intoxicating to the detective who was in an entirely new world of their making at the moment. "I'll make tea."

Sherlock took this as a green light. He pulled her close and took control of her once more, kissing her and pouring the passion into her as she had with him. She embraced him, allowing herself to be taken. She couldn't form a rational thought at the moment, and neither could Sherlock. He backed her up to the door and they separated long enough for Molly to get the key into the door and open it. Once it was open, Sherlock gathered her into his arms and slammed the door behind them as he carried her inside. She directed him to her bedroom, where only then he sat her down and kissed her deeply once more. He stopped, suddenly and looked at her. "We don't have to if you-"

"Please." Molly begged with every fiber of her being. She'd dreamt of this moment for years and now she was in her bedroom with a more than ready Sherlock Holmes and she wasn't about to pass the moment up. Molly was a virgin, but the feeling of want was overwhelming. She didn't want to die a virgin. Who better to experience lovemaking with than the one she loved?

She took to undressing him as they kissed. Pulling off his layers: coat, scarf, dress shirt, to reveal a rather fit and lean chest and abdomen underneath. She ran her hands over the hot warmth of his skin and allowed him to peel her red cardigan off of her and toss it to the side. He pulled her dress straps off of her shoulders and kissed down her neck and along its exposed milkiness as he searched for her zipper behind. Her hands roamed lower, taking in the hardness that pressed against the constraints of his trousers. Woah, this is hot. A simple thought, but once she fully agreed with.

Her dress fell to the floor, and her bra and panties were not far behind. She stepped out of her flats. She stood naked and shaking in front of her detective as he ran his hands about her, softly exploring her curves and feeling the softness of her body. He was amazed at how his body responded to the feeling of naked Molly beneath his fingertips. It was completely alien and completely exhilirating at the same time. He had had a woman before, when he was a wild teenager. Before he realized that emotion and sentiment were not something he cared to deal with when there were so many other things out there to be logically deduced and experimented with. His other sexual exploits had been unromantic and purely for the wonderful feeling an orgasm provided. He lifted her up once more and placed her on the bed.

She looked up at him as he stepped quickly out of his shoes and socks, trousers and briefs. He gazed at her and stopped momentarily. "Do you have-?" Sherlock questioned. Oh.

"No, I'm on birth control." Molly had undertaken to getting on birth control. Just in cause someone decided she was worth girlfriend material and wanted something of a physical relationship with her. It hadn't happened yet, though she was thrilled she had been prepared.

"Okay." He crawled on top of her, skin to skin, kissing her and exploring her. Breathing in the perfume of her hair, the pheromones she was releasing at his touch as she grew wet beneath him. He wondered if she had ever been taken before, and at least he had deduced correctly (without his knowledge of the truth) that she was a virgin. He positioned himself and held her close as he slid slowly into her. There was pain only momentarily and she gasped at the sensation as he filled her up. He slowed as he entered her, allowing her to get used to the feeling of him within her. She felt so wonderful and warm and his primal urge was to begin thrusting.

He held her close, feeling her heartbeat, feeling her skin afire, her breasts pressing into his chest, her nails digging slightly into his back as she embraced him. "Oh, Sherlock..." She moaned and he slowly began to move inside her. She couldn't think, she couldn't function, she only wanted to hold him close and savor each sensation of him as he made love to her. Molly felt the fire pooling within her, tightening every muscle in her body, aching within her to be released. His breath became ragged, his thrusting more needful as he held her, and his feathery kisses upon her neck as he loved her toppled her over the abyss and she cried out with pleasure as she spiraled into her orgasm. Moments later Sherlock followed, grunting as he emptied himself inside of her.

The two lay in their embrace afterwards. Molly didn't dare release him. She feared after tonight she may never experience Sherlock as his carefree and romantic self again after he realized what had happened. She felt depressed in that thought and hugged him closer. He raised up and looked down at her, brushing a stray hair out of her eye as he did so. "Molly."

"Don't speak. I don't want to ruin it." Molly smiled, but tears pricked her eyes. She didn't want him to see. Didn't want him to know.

"You couldn't possibly ruin this." Sherlock kissed her. Sentiment and emotion had taken over, released from their mental prison within him. I think I'm falling in love. If that's possible for me to do. Sherlock kissed her again, reassuring himself that he truly felt the way he did. "I'm so sorry I never realized it before. You've done so much for me and I've treated you so abrasively." Sherlock looked ashamed as he rolled off of her and sat up on the side of the bed. She rose up, grabbing for the sheet off of her messy covers and covering herself shyly with it. Sherlock wondered why she would cover up such a beautiful body. Molly seemed ashamed of many things about herself and Sherlock could not figure out why.

"It's okay. Really." My meds. I've got to take them now or this is going to get really awkward. Molly's headache had been relieved, possibly by the orgasm she reminded herself, but the tingling in her right leg was intensifying and she was afraid she'd topple over once it decided to go completely numb. "I'll be right back." She hurried to the bathroom and locked herself inside, fishing out the makeup bag and swallowing the pills down in a hurry. She hid the makeup back under the cabinet where she kept the cleaning materials and looked at herself in the mirror once more.

A glowing happy woman gazed back at her. She smiled. She felt beautiful, she felt alive. Her skin glowed with the warmth of love, her eyes were bright and brown, there were no more pale skin dark circles beneath her eyes. I'm in love with Sherlock Holmes. And I'm almost assured that he's in love with me. That was a heady thought. Remember. You're dying. You don't have a future to offer this man, so don't get your hopes up about love. The throbbing tingliness in her leg reminded her of this cruel fact. Her smile faltered. She reinforced herself. There may not be a future, but by god I'm going to indulge if only for one night.

Molly emerged from the bathroom and walked over to Sherlock. He took her face in his hand once more. "How could I not have seen you, Molly?" Sherlock seemed to be in disbelief. She smiled at him and kissed him, shutting him up and pushing him back down on the bed. One night, if nothing more. I'll be the Molly I'll never be for once more night.

I hope that you all enjoyed this chapter. I felt Molly deserved what she's always wanted. Although this is going to cause conflict, as you can probably foresee, at least Molly will have this and much more to look forward to before it's all over and done with.

Next chapter, Molly has a hard day in the lab. Molly's secret is revealed, and possibly a bigger shock is to come.

Please review! Reviews make me want to rush home and write all hours of the night to bring you more of this story. Thanks for reading!


	6. Chapter 6

Don't know if you all care or not but I tend to write my chapters to music. A song that suits or simply some good classical background music. If at all interested, if you listen to the song while you read the part perhaps you'll feel what I was feeling. A little extra rereading incentive perhaps? First part of the chapter, in the lab and catching up from last chapter, I was listening to "When Under Ether" by PJ Harvey. Next part (after page break) was "Safe And Sound" by Taylor Swift. Last part was "Tennuous Winners/Returning Home" from the Hunger Games Score. Absolutely beautiful and moving.

Anyways, if you don't listen to that type of music or care to, you'll hopefully enjoy this chapter just as much! Please review and let me know! Thanks to you all!

Chapter 6

"Place this in the incubator for me please, John." Sherlock picked up the sample he had finished and handed it back over his shoulder while he peered through the microscope. John came up instinctively and took it from him, giving him a strange look as he did so. He placed it in the incubator and came back over to sit next to Sherlock as he worked.

"You feeling okay?" John questioned with an amused look upon his face. He had known that Sherlock had gone out with Molly Hooper two weeks ago, but he hadn't questioned the consulting detective about it for fear he'd embarrass him. Sherlock liked to keep personal endeavours to himself and not share them with others. Perhaps Mycroft had something to do with that. Maybe he used to tease Sherlock when they were younger and therefore Sherlock just keeps to himself.

Sherlock did not even flinch at the question. "Yes, I'm fine. Never better." He placed another slide on the microscope. John continued to stare at him, wanting to cause a reaction.

"Ever since you and Molly went out you seem different." John sighed and ran a hand through his sandy hair. "Not in a bad way, mind you. Just...more laid back." Sherlock looked up and met John's eyes. He said nothing, simply looked at him and turned his attention back to his work.

"There's nothing different, everything is just... clearer." Sherlock let his voice fade into nothing as he started to concentrate on what he saw before him.

The door to the lab squeaked open and Molly entered, carrying a large stack of binders once more. John hopped up to help her. Her hair was dolled up in a pretty fishtail braid, something new for her, and he noticed she had a bit of makeup on here and there. She smiled, a true Molly smile, and he returned it. "Morning!" She piped and headed back to her office to set down her bag and hang up her coat. John turned and observed Sherlock, who's attention had once again broke from his microscope to look after Molly as she walked. Nothing different my arse. John shook his head, humored, and went to sorting the binders Molly had carried in.

Their work carried on in this way for the next two weeks. Sherlock had taken Molly out on three more occasions since, and each time had been another lovely evening of conversation of unusual things, dinners at random places that Molly had never tried before (she wanted to expand her palate as well since her days seemed numbered), and intensely passionate lovemaking at Molly's apartment afterwards. Sherlock had found he was looking forward to their dates with excitement, the awkwardness and nervousness long gone after their first night spent naked and loving each other.

Molly had discovered that she never wanted any moment spent with the brilliant detective to end but found herself trying to force herself to be cold as if it were their last time together. She had visited the doctor once more in those two weeks, and he seemed pleased with how she was holding up. Her meds had been evened out, so that she hadn't had to suffer the tingling numbness attacks on her limbs. She wondered if perhaps this would be a turning point. Maybe my life won't be coming to an end anytime soon. Maybe all I needed was the medicine and a little lift in my spirits to get me on the right track. Molly found her outlook on life brightening more than it had in the last few weeks. There's always a silver lining. She couldn't help but repeat it like a mantra. It seemed so true.

It wasn't until that day in the lab nearly a month later that things were going to take a turn. Sherlock and John worked alongside Molly in the lab. Lestrade had been in and out all morning, wanting to know the progress of the case as it was coming along. Sherlock and John had nearly figured it out, and Molly was running herself ragged trying to supply them with everything they needed as well as work on the samples and the postmortem of the man that lay in the black body bag in her morgue. She was exhausted, knowing that she really shouldn't be overworking herself. I cannot disappoint, I have to be able to carry my part of the work. She had sensed the tingling down her right leg and her neck as well, which was new but she chalked it up to too much stress. She had taken her medication with a large glass of water, waited about fifteen minutes, and when the tingling subsided she went back to work.

Her headache on the other hand was beginning to roar to a crescendo. It had started at the nape of her neck this time, which was also unusual, and had worked its way up into her temples and entire head, digging icy burning spikes all the way up through her brain as it went. She had doubled up on her pain meds in that regard, to the advice of her doctor, but it didn't seem to help. I haven't had much to eat either, that could be part of the problem. After we work out the next three samples I'll send for take out and that will be the end of that. Molly felt tired and sluggish and was attempting to keep herself chipper. She would finish this before she'd let it beat her.

Sherlock and John were standing over the bunsen burner and test tubes, watching the chemicals and reactions within. John was pointing out something to Sherlock out of one of her lab manuals and they appeared to be having what Mrs. Hudson lovingly called a "domestic". Molly smiled to herself, always enjoying seeing the two of them working together and getting along as they did. A stab through her temple and into her right eye caused her to lean against the lab counter behind them, her hand going to to the area to rub. Perhaps I should excuse myself and get something to eat now. I don't think my body is going to allow me to continue without it. She started back towards her office to get money from her purse when Sherlock called out to her. "Molly, would you mind grabbing the sample from the incubator while you're there?" He smiled at her and it warmed her heart despite the pain in her head.

"Sure!" She turned and headed around the corner to grab the sample. As she removed it she felt another sharp pang within her head and she sat the sample down on the lab counter as not to drop it. She'd be damned if she did that again. Her right leg was fully numb, her brain was aching and throbbing, and the back of her neck felt strangely stiff. This is not good. What's happening to me? I can't let them see. I've got to call...Molly had no time to finish the thought as a bright red flaring pain ripped through her head and her right eye. She felt equilibrium off and felt herself falling backwards. She made to reach out and grab the counter but her hand would not respond as she had wanted it to and only flopped out limply as she fell.

John was the first to look up when they heard the heavy thump and the crashing and tinkling of test tube glass from around the corner. Sherlock crinkled his brow in concern and took off towards the area, followed closely by the army doctor. Molly lay on the floor, unconscious, blood trickling here and there from the cuts upon her hands, arms, and head where she had fallen into the rack of cleaned test tubes and beakers. John dropped to the floor, not minding the glass that surrounded her and checked for a pulse. It was there, but it was thready and weak. He checked her head and felt a goose egg growing upon the back of her skull. "Sherlock-"

Sherlock gave him no time to finish the sentence. He leaned down, sweeping Molly up off of the floor, and hurried out of the lab. John had to struggle to keep up with him as he ran down the hallways, shouting for people to move, heading towards the emergency room. He was afraid, as afraid as he had been when he had met Moriarty upon the rooftop of this very hospital. As afraid as he had been when he had seen the bomb strapped to John's chest in the swimming pool. He whisked her through the doors and into the triage room. John had to pull him back as the doctors and nurses took over to assess her. It was a fight to get him to sit down in the waiting room and simply wait for word of her condition. Sherlock stared off into nothingness, awaiting word.

Molly awoke slowly, the pain in her head becoming more prevalent as she became more conscious. The light stung her eyes, and her head ached something dreadful. She made to raise her hand to feel of the back of her head and found her reactions sluggish. What happened? Why do I feel so drugged? Her eyes flitted down to her hand, in which an IV was taped and sat uncomfortably. Where am I?

Molly's eyes flew open with realization. She had been getting the sample from the incubator and had felt the migraine stabbing into her when everything went black. Now she observed that she sat within an ICU room, in a hospital bed, in a gown that left nothing to the imagination, hooked up to various machines and IVs. She moved her had to the button to call for the nurse and instead her hand brushed another. She slowly turned her head on the pillow to see.

Sherlock sat in a chair he'd pulled up to her bedside, laying across the bed asleep at her side, one hand upon her leg the other brushed by Molly as she had moved. Her heart fell. Oh gods. He knows. Now they all know. Molly felt so happy to see him there for her, but depressed. Her condition was becoming apparent. She didn't know how long she could have kept it a secret, but this was not how she intended them to find out about it. She began to cry, not being able to hold it back any longer. She had terminal brain cancer, a lesion upon her brain that was causing her to lose control of herself and everything that she was. She had mistakenly attracted Sherlock's attention after all this time and now there was this.

"Molly?" A voice as soft as a whisper came to her from her opposite side. She didn't want to turn and look as she knew if Sherlock was here most likely John was as well. "How do you feel, love?" She felt the coolness of a wet washcloth upon her brow and she closed her eyes at the thankfully soothing sensation. The tears did not cease though, as she could no longer contain them. She turned her head, with much difficulty towards John, and he sat beside her bed. She moved her hand towards him and he took it. "You've been out for about ten hours. Doctors feared you had a concussion from hitting her head so hard."

"You know." Was all Molly could muster as she struggled to find her voice. "Why is it so hard..." She was becoming frustrated.

"It's the demerol. The doctors were giving it to you for the pain. They also ran a few tests. So, yes, Molly. I'm sorry but they had to tell us. You're mother wasn't answering her phone and we were the emergency references on your file thankfully." John looked sad, but professional. Comes with being a doctor I suppose. "Were you ever going to tell us?"

Molly shook her head no as violently as she could muster while being drugged. She made to rip out the IV but John took hold of her hands. He pressed the button on the bed to call the nurse and relayed the message that she wished the pain medicine to be reduced because it was making her too loopy. She nodded to John and tried for a smile.

"We're here for you, Molly. Anything you need. Sherlock has been especially upset since the incident." John nodded towards Sherlock as he lay sleeping. The nurse came in and punched some buttons on the pump. Within minutes Molly was beginning to feel a little more with it.

"Thank you." She thanked John and he raised up to give her a kiss upon her forehead.

"The doctor told me what meds he had you on. Are you considering any of your options?" John inquired as he bent to get her water pitcher and pour her a glass. He offered it to her with a straw and she took it, cherishing the feel of the icy coolness as she swallowed it. She felt parched as if she'd been on a desert island for ages.

"No Chemo. No surgery." Molly choked out as she took another drink. John's look faltered.

"You wouldn't even consider it?" John was being hopeful, as a friend, but respectful of her wishes from a doctor's standpoint.

She shook her head. "No reason to go to extremes. I don't want to be a vegetable until I die if the surgery didn't fix anything." Molly sighed. She was becoming exhausted simply by having the conversation. "The chemo would just make me sick before the cancer killed me. Percentage rate of surviving isn't high with either option. I don't have that much to live for that I'd go to that length." She avoided his eyes and took another drink.

"I understand." John stated and sat down the cup.

"I'm sorry. I'm so tired." Molly breathed and closed her eyes. John took hold of her hand. "Don't leave."

"We won't. I promise." John whispered. Molly faded into unconsciousness once more, and into a world of wild fantastical dreams, perhaps brought on by the Demerol.

When Sherlock had awoken, Molly had still been asleep. He dared not wake her, knowing she needed her rest and to gather her strength. John had been beside her in his spot where she had seen him when she awoke. He'd motioned for Sherlock to join him outside the room and Sherlock had reluctantly and sleepily complied. John explained the conversation the two had had when she had momentarily awoken. Sherlock seemed relieved to know that she had awoken at all and listened intently.

"What do you mean she won't consider chemo or the surgery? It would give her at least a few more years, possibly more. She could beat it." Sherlock started. John nodded, understanding and agreeing, but holding his hands up to slow Sherlock.

"I know, Sherlock, but this is Molly's life we are talking about and she is still in control of it. If she doesn't want to risk feeling more miserable than it's worth she's not going to. We have to respect that." John watched him. He'd only seen the detective this frazzled about few things and never to this extent. "You love her, don't you?"

Sherlock stopped and met his eyes. Tears pricked them. And Sherlock Holmes does NOT cry. John felt his own self falter a bit. Had his friend finally come to the realization that Molly loved him and was falling for her at such a time? How painful this must be to one who has spent the last who knows how many years dehumanizing himself to avoid this type of injury. The irony was thick. "She won't consider it unless she has something to live for? Are her friends and those that love her not enough?" Sherlock had indirectly answered the question, so John didn't push the subject.

Suddenly realization flashed in Sherlock's brilliant eyes and they became afire with intellect and deduction. His mind was racing, the adrenaline was surging. He would not lose that which he had taken so long to find. To deduce that he would not be the same with a broken heart. He had come to see that he truly loved, felt sentiment for, longed for Molly to be with him forever. She understood him, put up with his quirkiness and his fits of egotistical ranting and rage. She was perfect for him. There was nothing about her that he knew as of now that did not hold his interest. His chest literally ached at the thought of her passing away in that very room at that very moment. He peered in the doorway just to make sure she was still breathing. "Sherlock, SHERLOCK." John was struggling to regain his friend's attention.

"I'll give her something to live for. I'll convince her to take the chemo. I can't-" Sherlock choked back a sob and put a hand to his mouth, backing away from John, fearful to allow his emotions to fully take control of him as they seemed to be doing a lot more of lately.

"And how are you going to do that?" John asked, taking hold of his shoulder, attempting to ground him and steady him. Sherlock met his eyes with his own tear filled pools of sapphire.

"I'm going to make her an offer she cannot refuse." Sherlock let the tears fall, quickly wiping them away. John averted his eyes, giving the man his privacy in the moment. "Please, help me, John." Sherlock's shoulders heaved with another wracking sob. John nodded. He had an idea of what Sherlock intended to do, and he would help him. If it would make Molly want to live, and make Sherlock accept this better, he would go along with it.

"Okay." John squeezed his shoulder reassuringly. Sherlock gathered himself, swallowing down the emotion, righting himself. His mind surged, planning, deducing. John watched his mind come alive and only hoped that his phase of denial would not last long.

Molly awoke feeling considerably stronger the next day. She sat up in the bed, a dull ache in her head, but bearable. The back of her head was tender, and there were a few stitches here and there on her arms and hands from cutting them on the test tube glass. The boss is going to murder me for all the destruction I caused in the lab. To hell with it, she can take it out of my living will if she wants it so desperately. She was feeling resiliant in the moment. Even more so when she spied Sherlock coming around the corner with two cups of coffee in his hands.

"Good morning, Ms. Hooper." Sherlock smiled at her and approached, setting her coffee he had gotten her down on the bedside table and leaning over to give her a kiss. She turned her head, allowing him to kiss her cheek. She wasn't sure how she was feeling. She wanted to pull him in and give him a loving kiss, but considering the situation, she felt cold shoulder ice queen was going to have to be the route to take. Sherlock's good mood faltered momentarily, the sadness showing through for a split second, before his uncomfortable smile was back and he offered her the coffee. She took it and sipped it. Just how I like it. For once he brought me coffee. Molly snickered into the cup and Sherlock watched her somewhat amused and confused.

"Thank you." She sighed and looked about. The sun was actually shining through the ICU room's windows and she felt invigorated. Perhaps it was the dose of medicine she had been given in her stay. "The doctor says that there hasn't been much growth, and he's changed my meds so I'm good to go." Molly stated.

"Good to go?" Sherlock didn't seem to understand. Molly pushed the button on the bed to call the nurse.

"Yes, as in I'm getting the bloody hell out of here and going home. John's already arranged to care for me there til I get back on my feet. Which shouldn't be long by the way I feel." Molly smiled as the nurse entered. She explained she was ready to leave and the nurse left to inform the doctor of her intentions.

"Are you sure?" Sherlock could not help but look concerned. Molly nodded.

"I'll go inform John that you're going to take him up on the offer then." He patted her leg and turned to leave. Molly took hold of it and squeezed it tightly. Sherlock turned back to her slowly. The emotion on his face was nearly tangible. Oh gods. He really does love me. Fate is too cruel.

"You don't have to be with me. This is a dead end street." She frowned but it needed to be said.

"I want to be with you, Molly. The last month and a half has been an amazing journey of discovery and awakening within me. I owe it all to you. You've warmed this cold heart within me and I want to be with you and return the favor." Sherlock smiled, then reconsidered what he had said and closed his eyes in frustration. "No, I meant...you're not cold hearted." Molly giggled. Sherlock opened his eyes and smiled. "I meant, you make me feel alive and I want to make you feel loved and alive as well." He sighed. "I don't really have a way with words when it comes to sentiment. It's a new feeling for me."

"How about a wordless apology then?" Molly whispered. Sherlock's eyebrows raised in interest and he leaned down to her, one hand upon the bed, the other about her cheek. He kissed her, lovingly and softly, and she allowed him, melting into him. He winked at her when he ended it, and she felt overjoyed. "That's the best kind of apology."

"I completely agree." Sherlock stood up as the nurse entered to remove her IV. Sherlock helped Molly up out of the bed, helping her to the bathroom so she could dress, and then down the hallway and into the cab to whisk her home. Little did Molly know what awaited her there.

This story is growing by leaps and bounds. I fully expected Molly to be long gone at this point, but considering how you are all enjoying the story and the happy things I've promised Molly before it's all over with, I've made a few changes. :) I've even toyed with the idea that if enough of you review and let me know what you think...it could possibly change the ending for better or worse. :) I have two ways that this could end and I love them both, but that's a few chapters away still.

Can any of you guess what's in store for Molly when she gets home? How is Sherlock going to convince her to choose life? Is Sherlock strong enough to give her something to live for?

I do hope I haven't made Sherlock too lovesick and corny. I'm trying to write him from a perspective of how he would feel if he ever did fall in love. This is such a sad story, I cry when I write it. But it's beautiful in a way. It has a silver lining.

Please review because it makes me happy and makes me want to drag myself home every night after work and crank out the next chapter! Thank you all so much for loving my story and for reading it!

I'll try my best to post the next chapter tomorrow!


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Sherlock had accompanied Molly into the cab from the hospital, supporting her as she walked. Molly felt a little joyous at his arm about her waist as they walked, and the fact that Sherlock wasn't shying away from showing affection for her in public. She knew he was a very private man, but perhaps his love for her was overcoming some of his personal boundaries. He scooted into the seat next to her and leaned forward to tell the cabbie "221B Bakerstreet." Molly started to protest, thinking that they were supposed to be going to her flat and not Sherlock's. She was tired and wanted to crawl into her own bed and sleep for weeks from the exhaustion. Sherlock grinned at her. "John stated he would care for you, but he still needs to assist me and Lestrade with cases. So he will be caring for you at our flat. No worries. I've prepared my bedroom for you. You'll have everything you need."

Molly didn't have the strength to protest, so she didn't. The ride to Bakerstreet was quiet. Molly inadvertently leaned over and placed her head on Sherlock's shoulder and rested her eyes as they traveled, the rocking of the cab as it turned and slowed lulling her to sleep. Sherlock glanced down at her and relished the touch. I never thought I could love anyone. Especially as much as my heart aches for Molly Hooper. Sherlock was amazed at the humanization he had encountered over the last month and a half. All because his interest had peaked in this shy lab girl whom he had worked beside for going on three years.

Sherlock woke Molly as they arrived at the flat. He helped her out, and she pushed him slightly away, wanting to be her own person and make it up to the flat on her own. Sherlock allowed it. I'm still me. I can still do things for myself. I'm not completely helpless yet. Molly sighed. Her head was a tad tight, as if a tension headache would erupt at any moment. She was thankful John had phoned ahead and gotten her medications refilled for her trip home. She tackled the stairs with gusto, but had to rest halfway up against the window sill to catch her breath. This latest episode had really taken a lot out of her. Sherlock gave her her space, merely standing by to assist if need be. She made it up the rest of the way and entered the flat to John sitting in his usual seat reading the paper. Mrs. Hudson was in attendance as well, preparing tea and biscuits to welcome her with. Molly thanked her and gratefully accepted her warm, motherly embrace as she hugged her. I wish my own mom was home. I really miss her. I haven't even told her yet...She wished to spare her mother the pain of learning her only daughter had a terminal illness, but then she also missed her mother being around at all.

John helped Sherlock with the few things they had gathered from her flat prior to her release from the hospital and Sherlock showed her back to his room. He had cleaned, as he seemed to be a rather messy person normally (John seemed to be the clean one about the flat). Mrs. Hudson surely had assisted him for the woman's touch. A dozen roses greeted her with their scent as she entered the room. Molly smiled. She turned to Sherlock and he smiled back at her. "Thank you. They're lovely."

"Not nearly as lovely as you are." Sherlock kissed her softly on her forehead and she cherished it with closed eyes and flushed cheeks. He sat her things down within the closet and turned to her. "If you fancy a rest you're more than welcome to take one. Make this flat your own while you're here." Molly sat on the bed and felt of the sheets. A rest is not what I want, but its what I need. She gave him a halfhearted smile and nodded. He started to exit the room and leaned back in one last time. "Perhaps when you wake you can assist John and I with some casework. I've taken the liberty of bringing some work home if you got to feeling restless." Molly brightened. She did indeed enjoy her job, and feared she wouldn't be able to get back to postmortems and test tubes for a while after what had happened.

"That would be wonderful." She felt more relaxed and a little excited now with the proposition of being able to do what she loved while she was on a medical leave. He smiled warmly at her and then took the liberty of leaving her to herself. She took off her shoes and slid under the covers, loving the silky coolness and the unmistakable scent of Sherlock as she laid upon the sheets and breathed him in. John popped in momentarily, a dose of medication and a glass of water handy. She sat back up and took them gratefully.

"Just your pain medicine and the medicine for the swelling. I've got a schedule of everything and I've gotten the low down from your doctor. If you need anything, let me know." He patted her hand and she thanked him before laying back down. John closed the door gently behind him and it wasn't long before Molly was asleep and resting.

Molly awoke a few hours later to sounds of discussion and clinking of plates out in the living room. She stretch as she rose, noticing that her headache had all but completely disappeared and she felt stronger after resting her body. She took the time to braid her messy slept on hair into a braid and make sure she was decent before heading out to the flat.

Sherlock and John were at their desk having a rather energetic discussion about drugs and their interactions upon a body. They both stopped momentarily to greet her as she entered the room.

"How are you feeling?" John asked. Sherlock stood to pull out an extra seat for her. She sat thankfully and blushed. She still wasn't used to having so much attention from Sherlock Holmes.

"I feel much better, thank you." Molly answered. Sherlock disappeared into the kitchen while John looked her over. He pulled out his medical kit and took some manual vital signs. He seemed pleasantly impressed when he'd finished. "Everything is wonderful. You're as healthy as a horse." John grinned as Sherlock returned with a large plate of food and a cup of tea prepared exactly as Molly liked it. "Sherlock cooked for us this evening. He doesn't like to admit it but he's rather good at it." John chuckled. Molly glanced at the plate and felt instantly famished and took to eating.

Once her meal was finished, Molly felt ten times better. Medication, a fully belly, and the best company I could ask for at a time like this. I'm so very lucky. Why didn't I just become honest with them sooner? Molly couldn't help but feel very blessed in that moment. John cleared her plate and brought her another cup of tea at her request. Sherlock watched her intently as she sipped it. "Are you ready to help us with some casework? Or would you like to save it for another day?"

"Oh I'd love to. I could handle it I think." Molly's face lit up. Sherlock felt relieved. John gave him a look that Molly didn't seem to notice. He then hopped up and fetched Sherlock's microscope from the kitchen table as well as some samples. "What is it I'm looking for here?"

"These are from a case we're currently working on. Drug bust and overdose. We need to identify the drugs the man had in his system." Sherlock brought her books and a notepad and pencil to her. "Is it too much?"

"No no! Not at all!" Molly smile at him, glad to see that he knew what made her feel more human, and less like a specimen to be pitied and studied.

"Now, it's critical that we identify them in order as I've labeled them, please." Sherlock cleared his throat and sat down to filter through a book as John took to pointing a few things out to him. Sherlock and his OCD. Molly smiled to herself. She knew him so well. He knew she would do what he asked as he preferred. She aimed to please.

Molly set to work preparing and identifying the slides. Writing them down in a list order as she went:

Magnesium sulfate

Abiraterone Acetate

Raloxifene

Ramelteon

Yohimbine

Mannitol

Econazole Nitrate

That was simple work. Molly felt pleased with herself for finishing the list. "Finished." She smiled and handed the list to Sherlock. He looked it over and took the pencil, studying the work with a furrowed brow. Her smile faltered. Did I mess something up?

"Are you absolutely sure about that last one?" Sherlock glanced up at her, his usual serious emotionless face overtaking the warm welcoming one he had worn so often lately. She worried. Oh no, am I losing my edge in my work as well? "Look over that last sample again." Sherlock handed the notepad back to her.

"Oh- Okay-" Molly set the pad down and immediately took to the microscope once more. Something was different. There was something faceted and extremely luminous where the slide had previously been. She studied it intensely, unable to figure out what was going on. Is that a-

Molly gasped. She looked at the notepad and noticed that Sherlock had circled the first letter of each drug as he had been studying it. It spelled out simply MARRY ME. Molly looked up at him. He only met her gaze and held it, searching her eyes for an answer, saying nothing. She glanced down at the microscope again, removing the engagement ring that sat where the previous slide had. John must have switched it out while I was speaking with Sherlock. Oh gods...She held it up and studied it. It was an immense diamond in a white gold band at it sparkled endlessly. It must have cost a fortune. Oh gods, I can't. Sherlock Holmes is asking me to marry him and- Tears began to pour down her cheeks. John got up and left the table, as if to give them a moment, but she could feel him nearby behind her, perhaps in the kitchen.

"Sherlock, I-" Molly could barely get any words out. "I don't know what to say." She stared at the ring and then at Sherlock. He moved out of the chair and down on one knee beside her, taking her free hand and holding it within his own clammy hands. He was nervous as well.

"Say what is in your heart, Molly Hooper." Sherlock spoke softly in that honeyed baritone voice of his that Molly loved to listen to. "I have come to realize that you have been right in front of me this entire time and I have never really noticed you. Not until recently, and now that I have found you, life would be dull without you."

"But I'm-" Molly set the ring down on the table and started to cry hard hot tears. Sherlock's look faltered, his eyes anxious and confused. "I'm dying! There is no future with me! I'm nothing, I'll be gone before we were ever able to-" She was beginning to cry so hard she couldn't talk or breathe. Sherlock seemed awkward and uncomfortable, not knowing what to do. Well what reaction did he expect?! Molly was unnaturally angered with him. He knows what's wrong with me and now he pulls this? Twisting the knife a little deeper even if he isn't the one who put it there.

"We can have the wedding immediately if you like. As long as I have you, that's all I ask for. I want you as my wife." He spoke the words as if unsure of them as they came out of his mouth. John only watched the two with a tightlipped frown. "Please, Molly. Spend your days with me. I'll devote myself soully to you." Sherlock went to kiss her hand and she pulled it quickly out of his grasp and stood, knocking the chair backwards.

"No! I won't do it! I can't do that to you..." She wiped her eyes. I've got to get out of here. I can't do this. I can't hurt them like this. She headed for the bedroom, wanting to grab everything that had been brought for her and instead opting for her shoes and her coat which she donned immediately and headed for the stairs.

"Molly!" Sherlock took off after her, worried about her condition, and a little hurt by her refusal. "Where are you going?!"

"Home! I belong there, in my house. I need to be alone. I've lived that way for a while. That's what I know. What I need." Molly cried and slammed 221B's door behind her. She hailed a cab in tears, hardly able to see through them as a cab pulled up. Sherlock did not follow her, she noted as she climbed in and the cab sped off. She spent the entire ride in tears, her heart broken more so for hurting the one she loved with all her heart.

She arrived at her flat not longer after. She stood on the steps and leaned against the door as she sobbed. Gods, I've gone and left my keys and everything I'm sure. She stuck her hands in her pockets and was thankful to find her house key within the left. She entered the flat and dropped the keys as she viewed what had been left behind for her.

The entire flat living room was covered from carpet to ceiling in flowers. All kinds of fresh flowers she could imagine. It was like a jungle. The smell was delightful and fresh as she breathed it in. This only renewed her tears. Sherlock has done all of this for me? She had to hand it to him that for someone as romantic as a doorknob, he had gone above and beyond in his proposal. She noted a letter on the mantle in his familiar calligraphy-like handwriting. She took it and sat in her armchair, that looked strangely out of place within the confines of the flower jungle Sherlock had created for her. She opened the envelope and read:

I searched all over Great Britain for the variety of flowers that surround you. I searched for the most rich and most vibrant and most beautiful, and I came home to your flat with one of each. Although I must say, none of them are as beautiful, or sweet smelling, or vibrant as you are, Molly Hooper. I was blind for so long, and now that I've found you, you are the only light in my world. I've come to realize crime scenes and intellect are all good and well for distractions, but your love and dedication to me is a far better distraction than anything in my life could ever provide. I want nothing more than a life with you as my loving wife. I will forever be your loving and dedicated husband. I once told John I was married to my work. My life's work is now you, if you agree to my proposal. Simply stated, Molly, I love you completely and selflessly.

-Sherlock

Molly dropped the letter after reading it, and as it fell to her feet she burst into a fresh veil of tears. She placed her face in her hands and let the tears fall, unknowingly staining the lovely heartfelt letter.

"Molly." That deep familiar voice spoke up from behind her. She looked up in surprise, turning to see Sherlock standing in the doorway of her flat, wounded and concerned. "May I come in?" Molly nodded.

He entered and stood next to her, looking about at the work he had done earlier. He had had a notion that she might balk and run, and therefore this homage served two purposes. If she ran, she'd be greeted by this and perhaps a change of heart. If she accepted, he would bring her here for an extra surprise to seal the deal. It had partly been John's idea. John was worried. Sherlock had followed behind, knowing she'd come here.

"It's beautiful." Molly sniffed as she took it in once again. "I can't believe you did all of this for me. Never in a million years did I ever think I'd find myself proposed to by Sherlock Holmes. I should be overjoyed. I am, in a way." She sighed. Sherlock watched her. "I just- I don't want you to hurt, Sherlock. Its more painful for me to put the ones I love through my disease process than it is for me to experience it." Sherlock said nothing, simply knelt in front of her as she sat in the out of place armchair and took her hands once more. This time they were not clammy with nervousness, but warm with love and caring. He tilted her chin up so she would meet his eyes. They were on fire once more, that not soon forgotten fire of love and desire that she had come to know these past few weeks.

"I know what you have ahead of you. I know what you face. I will not allow you to face it alone. You have my heart, whether you choose to marry me or not, you have my heart and if you choose to abandon me to suffer through this alone, it will shatter nonetheless." Sherlock spoke to her and she reveled in each deep, dark note and lilt of it. "I will ask one more time, and know that I mean every word." He pulled her close until their foreheads touched in a loving connection. Molly closed her eyes. "Will you marry me?"

Those four words I thought I would never hear. My life is becoming complete. I was sated with merely being close to him and now he is offering me his heart, body, and soul for the remainder of my days. He is blatantly honest at every other time in his life, why would he not be now? Molly took a deep breath to calm her flittering heart.

"Yes." Molly let the tears that were now pure joy stream down her cheeks. She heard Sherlock release his breath at her answer and she smiled. He was just as nervous as I am. She opened her eyes to watch as he pulled the glittering and enormous diamond out of his trouser pocket and hold it up. She offered her left ring finger and allowed him to slide the gorgeous ring onto her finger. He took her hand and kissed it and pulled her into a loving and passionate kiss. The kiss quickly became heated and Molly felt her body awakening from the sad sullen ache that had overtaken her in 221B to one of electric sexual tension that possessed her deepest parts.

Sherlock stood, taking her up in his arms and walking her into the bedroom. She glanced that he had taken time to prepare this room as well, with many lit candles and roses adorning the room in all colors. Rose petals adorned the bed and he didn't bother to sweep them off of the bed as he laid her upon it, urgency making way as they locked once more in a kiss. Molly took precedence and stripped off his clothing quickly. He made short work of hers as well, and soon they lay upon the petal covered bed, naked, hot skin to skin, as he moved slowly inside of her. I want to remember this moment. This very moment. In this moment everything is perfect. There will never be another moment like this. This was the very last logical thought within her mind as Sherlock made love to her, loving every inch of her and filling her up with love and lust all at the same time.

They came together, crying out and mingling their breaths and entwining their limbs as they rejoiced in the afterglow. Sherlock released her hesitantly, as if he didn't dare to lose her once more. He sat up, naked a beautiful upon the bedside. 'I'll be right back. Don't you dare dress." He smiled at her and she giggled, blushing once more though she didn't know what for after what they'd just done. He disappeared into her kitchen and returned with two champagne flutes and a bottle of the same they had shared on their first outing together. Molly pulled the sheet about her as she sat up and watched him pour the champagne to celebrate their engagement. "You know it'll have to be soon. And it'll have to be a small wedding, because I don't really have much in the way of funds..."

"Money is no worry. Mycroft is going to foot the entire bill, as a wedding gift to me. It'll be the one good thing he does for me in this life." Sherlock chuckled. They toasted and sipped their champagne. Wow, that's very generous. Sherlock leaned in and kissed Molly's champagne sweetened mouth.

"That's too much. He doesn't need to do that. I need to foot some of the bill." Molly frowned. She was not one to accept such a lavicious gift without contributing. Sherlock cocked his head to the side, setting their empty glasses aside. He looked Molly head on.

"Okay, so let's make a deal." Sherlock became serious once more. It's almost like flicking off a switch for him. Molly was amused. "You agree to at least try the chemo therapy, and the wedding debt is repaid." Sherlock didn't falter, but held her gaze. Molly considered.

"Agreed." Molly sighed after a time. Sherlock's heart nearly leapt out of his chest at her agreement. He took her into his arms and hugged her so hard she feared she might lose breath. "But I get the white dress and cake and everything."

Sherlock released her and she noted the tear that had slid almost unnoticed down his cheek. "Anything you want. Anything, it is yours." He took her in for another deep loving kiss and round two of celebratory sex followed.

Molly lay on Sherlock's chest afterwards, feeling the rise and fall of his peaceful snoring as he dozed. She was in heaven, she had everything she could have ever asked for. I'm going to try the chemo, for my future husband, for John and for Mycroft for being so generous. She sighed, worried of the side effects the chemo would bring, and the possible let down if it had no effect on the lesions in her brain that were causing her the physical and emotional turmoil they were inflicting upon her. At least I'll be able to say I tried. Molly gazed at the painting that Sherlock had bought for her, placed upon her wall at the foot of her bed. She loved that painting, as it seemed to encompass her acceptance of her fate. Perhaps she would be as peaceful when her time came to meet the night.

I hope you all enjoyed this chapter. Molly's emotional turmoil pulls at my heartstrings, but how could she refuse a proposal from the one who has held her heart for so long? I think Sherlock was rather clever in his proposal as well. At least between two science nerds :)

Next chapter comes all the wedding happiness with the ever foreboding dark cloud that Molly cannot seem to shake. I hope you all look forward to it!

By the way, thank you for all of the reviews! Some really touched my heart, especially about how you thank me for not sugar coating Molly's illness. This story can only be told by the realness that people face situations such as these everyday, and being a nurse I see it on a daily basis. These people are stronger than I believe I will ever be.

I was so excited when I got home from work to write this! It was all I could think about on downtime at work. :) Please review your thoughts on this chapter as well!

And thank you all so very much for reading! I'll try my best to update tomorrow with Chapter 8! I've got alot of wedding planning to do!


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Molly and Sherlock are to wed.

Chapter 8

 

Molly sat in the chair in the lavish dressing room staring at her reflection in the mirror. She'd never imagined she would ever have ended up in her position at any point in her life. She was perfectly content being lonely shy little Molly, working alongside her best friends Sherlock and John Watson, occasionally having drinks at Christmas with Lestrade and Mrs. Hudson. She never imagined that dazzling diamond engagement ring upon her ringer would have been given to her by none other than Sherlock Holmes. The man who at this moment was milling about the grounds down below, near the alter, awaiting the start of the ceremony. 

She leaned over and peered out the curtain at the people as they took their seats. She noted many of her coworkers from St. Bartholomew's, her boss, some of her family that she wasn't really that close to but felt she needed to invite, John's sister and her partner, and some of the people from Scotland Yard. She had invited a little bit of everyone, wanting a big wedding, since she was going to have to give up so much just to pay the part of the bill she imagined she owed to Mycroft. Speaking of which, Mycroft came into view, speaking to his brother, who of course was blowing him off in true Sherlock fashion. Her heart practically sighed at the sight of her husband to be, handsome in his black tux, complete with tie (although he never wore them, he did on this occasion to please her). His curls were coifed and perfect, his expression towards those milling about was his usual towards people, but she imagined that when she stepped out onto that petaled runway to the alter, he might give her a grin. This was, after all, what he wanted for her.

Molly sighed and turned away, looking at herself once more in the mirror. Her hair had been dolled up in a beautiful silky bun, complete with her veil attached, a birdcage lace and doily type number she had fallen in love with when Mrs. Hudson and John's sister Harry had taken her dress shopping. She loved the train that the veil provided, cathedral length she believed the shop girl had called it, that traveled all the way down to the ground. She peered down at her dress as well. She had loved the roses so much that Sherlock had placed in her bedroom that night when she had accepted his proposal that she had decided to go with the different shades of red and white for their colors. Her wedding dress was a sleeveless number with an empire waist that flattered her petite figure beautifully, adorned around her slight bosom with lace embroidery and rich white color fading to an almost dip dyed shade of red as it went down from her hips. She had chosen low heels, as not to trip on her way down the runway, knowing that she was never the most graceful person. Her bouquet was a beautiful arrangement of red roses and white baby's breath with a dip dyed white to red ribbon about the stems. 

Molly had opted to borrow Mrs. Hudson's diamond earrings for her something borrowed, and Harry had opted for her garter to contain a blue ribbon for her something blue. She had slipped on the garter over her wedding night lingerie that Harry and Clara had helped her pick out after Mrs. Hudson had left back for Baker Street on dress shopping day, which Molly was thankful for. She wiggled with anticipation at Sherlock's reaction to come as he undressed her after their ceremonies were over. She fought to quench the flame that was struggling consume her as such thoughts began to fill her head. 

Even now, she awaited for Mrs. Hudson to come and fetch her, as she had opted for her to be her Matron of Honor, as well as Mycroft, whom she had asked to accompany her down the aisle. She had no father, and her mother was still traveling and not able to attend. This saddened Molly, as every little girl wants her parents present on her big day. Nonetheless, her family here in London were her Baker Street friends and her hospital family. 

Molly had taken her meds early, as instructed by John, so as to head off the impending headache that seemed a daily occurrence now. The tingling in her limbs was nonexistent, much to her relief. Her medicine seemed to be doing the best it could on the day when it mattered, and she was thankful.

A knock came at the door. She turned to see John and Mrs. Hudson enter. John had a wonderfully large smile on his face and he looked dapper in his tux. Molly rose and returned the smile giving him a warm hug. "You look absolutely beautiful, Molly." Molly blushed and he chuckled.

"Thank you. You clean up well as well!" She joked and he hugged her close. Mrs. Hudson was fussing over her and her dress, so much that Molly had to distract her with the veil until Mycroft showed and offered her his arm.

"Ready?" Mycroft still had his umbrella in tow and this made Molly laugh. He seemed to take it with him everywhere. Molly swallowed, an instant flurry of nervousness passing through. She seemed to have paled some, and John stepped up with a hand on her arm. 

"Okay?" He asked concerned. She laughed.

"Yes, I'm just a little nervous." Molly took Mycroft's arm and he lead her to the doors of the castle where Molly had decided she wanted to have the wedding. She'd wanted it outside, in the sun and the beauty of mother nature, but she had always loved castles growing up as a child and had wanted one at least in the background. Sherlock had found the best of both worlds for her, and she had been overjoyed that Mycroft had rented out the entire grounds just for their wedding. 

The bells tolled to tell everyone to quickly take their places and as the music began, Mrs. Hudson and John walked down the aisle out the castle doors and around the corner to the alter. Molly took many deep breaths, afraid she would hyperventilate herself if she breathed at the pace her heart was prattling away at. The music changed, the song she had picked out that she felt best described the situation. Molly made a last minute decision and, asking Mycroft to hold her bouquet, bent to remove her shoes and stood in her stocking covered feet. Closest thing to barefoot, but the stockings were needed at the end of the night for the full effect of what lie beneath. Mycroft cocked his head curiously as she explained "It's my wedding day, and I want to walk barefoot through the grass. Feels good for achey feet." She smiled and Mycroft didn't argue with her logic.  
As Etta James' "At Last" began to play, Mycroft walked her out the large wooden castle doors, around the corner, and onto the rose petal strewn green grass of the courtyard. All in attendance stood as they walked slowly down the aisle. Molly's eyes took in the large rose laden arch at the alter where the chaplin from St. Bartholomew's stood with Bible in hand, ready to wed her to her love. John stood beside Sherlock giving Molly a wink as they walked. Molly locked eyes with Sherlock as she walked the remainder of the way down the aisle, their eyes exchanging heated loving glances. She was living a fantasy, once that she never dreamt would ever have occurred. He stood in his tux, looking handsome and completely at peace, a smile upon his face that warmed her heart. She knew in that moment that she had made the right decision, accepting his proposal. If I were to die tomorrow, I'd at least die content.   
Mycroft kissed the top of her hand and placed it in Sherlock's as they reached the alter, and the two stepped up and stood in front of the chaplin. They could barely contain their nervousness and excitement as the chaplin performed the ceremony. John stepped forward at one point and bound their clasped hands together with a red ribbon to symbolize what the vows were stating. Before long, the chaplin stated "You may kiss the bride." Sherlock lifted back her veil to reveal her completely to him with blushing cheeks and a smile she could hardly contain. He swept her to him with a strong hand about her waist and into a passionate kiss, to which the crowd cheered. She heard nothing as she lost herself in that first kiss as husband and wife. The urgency between the two was definitely there.

The reception was grand. Twilight had set in as those in attendance danced the evening away to a local band that Molly and Sherlock had chosen and the food was exquisite. Molly felt like a bottomless pit as she took in the glasses of champagne and food. John had given a quite moving and humorous toast to the new couple, as well as Mycroft, who's dry sense of humor illicited less laughter but a great deal of applause when he finished. 

Sherlock's eyes were only for Molly, as hers were for him. She could hardly contain herself when he leaned in close at one point and whispered "I cannot wait to whisk you off, Molly Hooper. You're my own personal wedding gift and I'm dying to unwrap you." into her ear and sent a delicious wave of desire and excitement up her spine. 

As the night drew to a close, Molly and Sherlock bid their farewells with a run through confetti as was traditional. Sherlock had whisked her through the castle doors and into the body of the castle itself. Molly looked about, taking Sherlock's hand and taking in the beauty of the castle she hadn't had much of a chance to explore. "Where are we off to?" She questioned.

"Mycroft has taken the liberty of renting out the entire castle not just for the wedding, but for the entire weekend. This is our honeymoon spot. If you like." Sherlock face revealed he wasn't sure if Molly would approve. Molly's face lit up with happiness and she threw her arms about his neck and hugged him tightly. He embraced her lovingly and kissed her forehead. He took her hand once more and led her up a long but grand flight of stairs until they reached a room on the very top floor that had been renovated. She entered the master bedroom with its castle rock walls and large plush bed, with a sky light the size of the entire room over the bed. The room had already been prepared with many lit candles and a bottle of champagne. The lighting was such that you could see the star lit sky through the ceiling. Molly was absolutely in awe. She loved the entirety of the room in itself. 

"It's beautiful, Sherlock." Molly whispered as she squeezed his hand. She felt as if she was floating on top of a cloud. He led her further in, removing his tux jacket and placing it on the nearby chair. Molly explored the room as Sherlock stood with hands in pockets and a satisfied grin upon his face. "It's perfect. I'll never want to leave. You've spoiled me." Molly laughed and Sherlock felt his heart stop momentarily at the sound of it. Such a beautiful musical tinkling as he had ever heard. 

"What would you like to do next? I'm sure you're worn out from such a day of excitement." Sherlock stated, although she could tell by the look in his eyes that his body was saying something completely different. She glanced into the bathroom to note that their belongings had already been brought to the room. 

"On the contrary, Mr. Holmes." She smiled and pulled her to him by his tie. He came willingly. He smothered himself in her bosom. "You promised me an unwrapping. Right after I take care of some medicine issues." Molly made to lead him into a kiss but then teased him by walking away and leaving him wanting. He looked after her with a shake of his head. She entered the bathroom, dug out her medicine bottles and swallowed her nightly routines with a glass of water. She glanced up to see that happy woman staring back at her in the mirror and turned back towards her husband. 

Sherlock stood as she neared him beside the bed, and let loose her bun. It uncoiled into pretty waves about her shoulders as he ran his fingers through it and led her into a kiss. His hands wandered down to find the zipper to her dress and he slowly pulled it down. "How do you like the sound of it?" He whispered into her ear once more as he kissed about her neck and caused spasms within her groin that caused her to sigh. "Mrs. Holmes?" Molly's heart and psyche rejoiced at the mere mention of it. She hadn't had the chance to say it all day.

"Mrs. Molly Holmes." Molly smiled, and felt a sob catch in her throat. Tears of joy, not tears of sadness or regret. She was genuinely the happiest woman on the planet at the moment. "I'll never get tired of hearing that. Truly." She giggled nervously and Sherlock reveled in the sound of it. He wished she would laugh each and everyday to remind him of that Molly was there, even if her body would give way to frailty or worse...

He tugged lightly on the wedding dress, allowing it to fall to the floor and pool about Molly's stockinged feet. He stepped back slightly, not expecting to see Molly dressed to the nines in white and red lingerie. He'd never really noticed lingerie until this very night. Molly had only ever been in regular underwear for a woman, but tonight...shouldn't he have expected it would be something special? Molly shifted nervously, not knowing how to take his reaction as he stared at her in the corseted top and panties with silk garters to her thigh high white stockings. It was trimmed and embroidered in crimson, following with the wedding colors that she had chosen. "Oh...Molly." He breathed.

"I- Is it-" Molly stuttered, wanting to put her arms about her and cover herself up, confused. He stood back and admired her.

"No. I'm-" Sherlock smiled at her and drew her close, drawing her hand downwards to his trousers where his erection was pressing painfully against the constraints within. Molly relaxed. Oh, it's a good shocked silence. Her confidence boosted back up to astronomical levels as Sherlock ground against her, allowing her to feel exactly how much he liked her choice in attire. "You're one incredibly beautiful woman, Mrs. Holmes." His breath was already ragged, and Molly knew first round would probably not be very long. I wonder.   
Molly took him deeply into a kiss, running her tongue upon his and exploring his mouth. Sherlock moaned a bit and Molly found those explicit sounds to be extremely arousing. It was her wedding night, she was going to step it up a bit once more. She pushed him gently down to the bed and bent to work on his trousers, allowing the constraints to fall free and him to spring free and more than ready. He glanced down, reaching for her, wanting to bring her back to his lips and love her, but it appeared that Molly Holmes had other things in mind. She went to her knees and took Sherlock fully into her mouth. His hips bucked at the sudden sensation and he cried out in surprise. He looked down at her, his eyes once again afire with passion and wanton lust for her. She met his gaze as she found her rhythm and teased him with her mouth until the sounds he uttered and the motion of his hips told her things were reaching a peak and quickly.

She stood up, releasing him completely and he uttered a complaint. Molly answered it by crawling on top of him and allowing his hands to feel that she was ready and wet for him. He smiled, and slid up inside of her in one smooth motion, his head thrown back in pleasure as he did so. She took the lead, moving on top of him, allowing him to view her in her lingerie as she loved him. Just once I can be sex kitten Molly. She smiled widely at that one, and she picked up the pace as she found that if she moved in just the right fashion. The entire situation was too much. Sherlock was moaning more and more and he felt so wonderful deep within her that she came and cried his name out as she did so.   
Sherlock watched her as she came undone on top of him and joined her, hands upon her hips holding her tightly to him as he emptied himself inside her. She relaxed as the movement stopped, taking in the sensation and catching her breath. Sherlock lay looking up at her with a satisfied grin upon his face, his breath also ragged and short. "That, Mrs. Holmes, was incredibly sexy." When she felt ready to move she lay on the bed next to him and stared up through the sky light at the thousands of twinkling stars overhead. Sherlock rolled over and ran a finger upon her chin and across her supple lips. "I love you." He whispered, his face now a mask of absolutely seriousness. 

Molly kissed him deeply but shortly this time. A meaningful, loving kiss. "I love you too, Mr. Holmes." She stood, heading towards the bathroom. Perhaps a nice warm bath for two would be nice way to regain some strength before...She needn't finish that sentence, even in her head. "I'm going to start a bath if you'd like to open the champagne." She was feeling like her old self again, not a trace of a headache or a tingle or a strange feeling of impending doom.   
"Sounds brilliant." Her husband agreed as he took hold of the bottle and popped the cork as she started the water.

A knock upon the bedroom door came unexpectedly. Must be room service. Surely this castle is fully staffed as well. Molly shrugged. It wasn't until she heard a woman's sultry voice mingling with her newlywed husband's that she became a little more than upset.  
I do hope that I did Molly and Sherlock justice in this wedding chapter. I wanted them to fully enjoy the day, to Molly's specifications. Although I always have to throw a little wrench into things...with the knock at the door. Any guess who it could be and why?

I do hope that you all are enjoying this fic still. Let me know what you think. I love my reviews. I may not be able to post much until early Monday morning as this weekend is a busy one for me. But I promise come Monday at the latest there will be more tragedy and more loving tender moments to come.

Thank you so much for reading!!!!


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A visitor disturb's Molly's wedding night festivities.

Chapter 9

As soon as Molly realized that there were two voices in the master bedroom, she swung the door the rest of the way closed and pressed her ear against it to attempt to make out the conversation.

"Wha-" Sherlock was obvious surprised. He had apparently answered the knock at the door and it most certainly was not room service. "What are you doing here?"

"I came to congratulate you on your nuptials." The voice was low, British, and sexy in a way that made Molly suspect that the woman who spoke to her husband was seductive by habit. It was not a voice she recognized offhand. "I sadly didn't receive an invitation, so I invited myself."

"Of course you didn't receive an invitation. You were supposed to be out of the public eye after that incident with the group that tried to behead you. Or don't you remember?" Sherlock sounded irritated. That made Molly somewhat happy. At least he isn't happy to see her.

"Ah, when you came to my rescue? Yes, I remember quite well. I also remember the night we shared afterwards." The voice was nearer to her husband's than Molly would have liked. She felt her anger rising. Who the hell is this woman? Why did Sherlock let her into the room on our wedding night? And what is she talking about, night spent afterwards?! Molly's head was beginning to spin. She felt something wet at her feet. She turned and hurried to the bathtub, which was currently running over and spilling into the floor and dropped the few towels she had gathered into the floor to mop up the mess. She then hurried back to the door and leaned against it once more straining to catch more of the conversation. Her head was beginning to ache something awful, though she tried her best to ignore it. "Why did you have to go and tie yourself down to a make a wish foundation candidate, Sherlock?" Molly flared with anger at the mention of her as such.

"Irene, you're out of line." Sherlock's voice was low and cautious but not angry yet. "I'm in love with her, and I chose to spend my life with her." Molly relaxed a bit.

"Well, then perhaps I should come calling back around in a few months when you'll be a handsome widower in need of some consoling." The voice had a hint of amusement within it and Molly bristled. This bitch...Molly was shocked at what she was thinking. How dare this woman refer to her as such, whether it were true or not? And why wasn't Sherlock absolutely irate with her at the mention of it? Molly felt tears welling up in her eyes, hot stinging tears that threatened to roll down her cheeks and redden her eyes as well as smear her wedding day makeup that she was so proud of.

"You had plenty of time to 'come around' before circumstances took a turn. I think I would have loved you once, but I can clearly see that you are an extremely insensitive and callous human being. I am married and happily at that. Now I'll ask you-"

"Oh, Sherlock." The voice was nearer to him now and Molly was feeling like her heart was about to burst within her chest and there was no stopping it. "You'll come around dear.. I imagine you probably didn't even officially sign the marriage license." Molly couldn't restrain herself any longer. She swung open the bathroom door hard enough for it to hit the wall and strode out towards the mystery woman revealed.

The woman was dressed in a low cut, elegant, but tight fitting white dress. Her makeup was pristine, as she was a naturally beautiful woman, and her pumps elongated her already perfect model legs. She was far too close to Sherlock than Molly would have ever liked her to be, with a few fingers lazily hanging from his right trouser pocket. Apparently he had been quick enough to apply his trousers once more before answering the knock at the door. The woman turned to view the bride approaching her in a fluster wearing nothing more than her lingerie. "Ah! Here's our blushing bride now." The woman smiled, and Molly wished nothing more than to slap it off of her porcelian face.

"Who the hell do you think you are?" Molly squeaked out, becoming angry and yet mousey at the same time. Sherlock looked like a deer caught in the headlights, frozen between the two women.

The woman offered her hand in greeting and stated "Irene Adler, dear. I don't believe we've ever met." Molly was shocked, but she tried not to allow herself to show it on her already reddened face. Irene was looking her over as she stood fuming in front of her. "Beautiful choice in wedding night attire, I must say. Bravo! I'm sure Sherlock approves. Although he is also quite fond of latex and leather as I recall." Irene turned her attention back to Sherlock, who had regained himself somewhat and managed to remove her hand from his pocket as well as put a bit of space between them. "He's fond of the whip as well..."

"This is highly inappropriate." Sherlock spat at her, now beginning to show that his patience was wearing thin. Molly glared at Sherlock momentarily, although most of her anger was clearly directed at Irene. Sherlock wondered halfheartedly if he was going to have to step between two scantily clad women in this bedroom.

"Indeed." Molly bowed up to Irene, unafraid and trying to regain her confidence. What did she mean by that? Has Sherlock been with this woman before?

"Have you honestly not spoken of me? Isn't this the lab rat that you work with on occasion at St. Bartholomew's? I believe you ran some tests on my phone..." Irene knew exactly what she was doing and it was working. Molly's mind flashed back to that day. The day that Sherlock was x-raying a phone and stated that this girl liked to 'play games'. She was playing one now, Molly figured, but she was pushing the wrong person. "If I can give you some advice, he rather likes his hair pulled-"

Sherlock's voice was laced with malicious intent as he cut her off. "Leave. Now. Do not contact me, do not come back around. I have a wife, who stands before you and she will not be treated in this way. What is in the past is in the past and I will not have you coming around stating derogatory things about my wife-"

Molly sighed, quite tired of his somewhat late attempt to defend her honor. She started towards Irene, who for a moment faltered in her smile and humor as Molly neared her. "Here's the thing, Ms. Adler. If you ever had a chance with my husband, you missed it. He proposed to me, he married me, he has bedded me. You are correct though...you are most welcome to try again...over my dead body." Molly was furious, her head was pounding, the blood was making a strange throbbing sound in her ears, and each barefooted step she took towards Irene caused Irene to back up a bit. "I believe you'll be leaving now. I'd quite like to not get into a row on my wedding night. It's been a long exhausting day and I'm not quite finished with my husband yet." Irene was currently in the hallway, and a staff member could be seen coming up the hall to check into what was the matter. "Good night, Ms. Adler." Molly took hold of the door and proceeded to slam it in her face, locking it from the inside as she did so.

Molly leaned against the door, her forehead pressed against it, hearing the pause and then receeding steps of Irene's pumps on the castle rock floor as she went down the hallway. She suddenly felt weak and lightheaded, and the headache had reached a voracious crescendo. She felt hands upon her bare shoulders but she shrugged them off. "Irene Adler. That was her."

"Yes." Sherlock stood behind her, giving her a bit of space but wanting badly to reach out and touch her, take hold of her.

"You let her in?"

"She kind of stormed in. I didn't invite her. I'm sorry, Molly I-"

"You had sex with her?" Molly wasn't one to judge on one's past experiences, but for some reason knowing that Sherlock had lain with her sickened Molly.

"Yes. Once and only once." Sherlock felt shamed.

"She's prettier than I am."

"No."

"Yes, she clearly is. She's that dominatrix that John had mentioned at one time. That explains a lot now that I can place her." Molly sighed. She wanted nothing more than to curl up in a dark place and cry away the pain in her heart that currently troubled her.

"No, Molly. She isn't. You are beautiful inside and out. I'm not a good liar, so you should be able to know that I'm telling the truth there." Sherlock's voice was soft and soothing. He attempted to place his hands on her shoulders once more, and once more she shied away from him, leaning up against the door in a defensive posture. Sherlock felt his heart fracture at the coldness. Perhaps she was learning to become more cold towards him, as she had attempted to before.

"Did you actually sign the marriage license?" Molly's voice was barely audible, as if she were directing the question to herself instead of Sherlock. She heard him move, rustling around in some bag in the room and then the paper was thrust in front of her. She took it from him and studied it. It was in fact the marriage license, signed by them both, witnessed by John and Mrs. Hudson, and notarized and signed by the chaplin that had wed them. She felt the tears coming and she didn't stop them. She slid down the door to the floor, letting the tears fall onto her bosom and her thighs as she sat there.

"Hey..." Sherlock had gotten into the floor with her and had scooted himself up until he was directly in front of her. "Molly, today was about us. Completely and wholeheartedly. I have never been more happy or felt more complete in my life until today." He took her hand and she glimpsed the white gold wedding band upon his ring finger and she sobbed at the sight of it. "I wear this because I belong to you and you to me. Until death do us part. And perhaps longer than that." He wiped the tears from her cheeks gently with his thumbs and she gathered her confidence and looked up into his eyes. "It's our wedding night, Molly. She may have tried to place doubt and ruin it, but she means nothing to me and hasn't for over a year. She's my past. You are my present and future. Please forgive me any grief I've ever caused you."

"It's just so hard not to doubt. You find out that I'm dying, you propose, you convince me to start chemotherapy, go as far as to marry me...sometimes I think it's all for my benefit and not for real. If I were to live a hundred years from this day forth would you not tire of me?" Molly choked out. Sherlock shook his head vehemently no.

"There will never come a day when I'm not grateful to have found you, Molly Holmes." Sherlock kissed her forehead lightly. Her heart felt lighter and her head felt less agonizingly achy. She couldn't help but trust in his words, as Sherlock Holmes was notoriously blunt and honest to a fault. "Perhaps a bath now? It's been a rather eventful night." He spoke to her softly, stirring primal urges deep within her with his deep lilting voice.

"I'd rather you finish unwrapping your present, if you feel like it." Molly breathed, catching her breath as she viewed his eyes and their desire reignited by her words.

"Oh, Mrs. Holmes..." Sherlock took her into his arms and rose, quickly taking her to the bed and laying her upon it. He lay on top of her, slowly running his soft hands up her thighs and under the hem of her panties, causing her breath in sharply at the wonderful sensation it provided when he found her already wanting. "Do forgive me, but this is rather urgent." He grunted as he unsnapped her stockings and pulled them slowly off, caressing her legs as he did so. The corset was a little more of a challenge, as he took to stripping down to glorious nudity and sitting up the bed, pulling her into his lap and kissing her passionately as he worked the hooks on the back of the lingerie. He removed it quite expertly, and cupped her breasts within his hands, feeling their fullness and the hardness of her nipples as they responded to his touch.

His erection was pressing against her softest spots as they sat in that way and Molly wanted so badly to have him once again inside her. She ran her fingers through that halo of curls that she loved so much, and whispered in his ear "You'd better take me now before I come simply from your touch. You've unwrapped all but the bow." She then proceeded to suck on his earlobe and he moaned with appreciation. Molly doing such sensual things to him was something he didn't think she had in her, so every new sexual experience was splendidly erotic.

Sherlock laid her down once more, and peeled her panties off of her in one smooth motion before climbing on top of her and meeting her mouth once more. She felt him as he pressed slowly into her and she arched her back to meet him. He wrapped his arms completely about her as he proceeded to thrust within her, breathing raggedly and rapidly into the crook of her neck as he loved her. She embraced him with both her arms and legs, allowing him to penetrate her deeply. He groaned and sighed at the wonderful, warm, tight sensation of the one he loved and wanted to give his heart over completely to, and as he felt her spasm around him he spilled over into the fuzzy blurred void of ecstasy along with her.

"I love you, Sherlock." She whispered into his ear as they lay in the postcoital afterglow. Sherlock refused to release her, and continued to hold her tightly in his arms.

"I love you." He whispered back through a genuine warm smile. Molly closed her eyes as he spoke those three words to her. The headache and sickening feelings of sadness were once again distant memories.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

 

The weeks following Sherlock and Molly's honeymoon were blissful ones. Molly had found it hard to leave their castle getaway, but knew that things could not continue on as perfectly as their marriage had begun. Sherlock was content as husband, and had proved so many times over during their stay, but as they returned to 221B Baker Street, things began to return to normal.

Normal being a strange word to use, Molly believed. Lestrade, Mycroft, John, and Sherlock had all helped to pack up what little Molly owned in her own little flat and moved it to 221B Baker Street. She had made sure that John didn't plan on moving out, and John reassured her that if they were happy having him in house, he'd be more than happy to stay. Molly believed that things would not be the same without John Watson at the flat and was happy to have the live in medical assistance if needed. She had been sad to say goodbye to her little flat, but she could think of no place she'd rather be than with her husband, her Sherlock Holmes. 

She had been attending her aggressive chemotherapy appointments for over two weeks now. Frankly, as she had gone in for her first appointment she had been terrified. She had refused to allow Sherlock to accompany her, for what reason she could only think was that she did not want him to see her afraid, or weakened in any way. He had not fought her on the subject, perhaps not fully understanding the undertaking, and John had been gracious enough not to worry him with the details at Molly's request. 

She remembered the first time she had sat in the office, going over pamphlets of what to expect, wondering what ravages the chemicals would take on her body. Would she waste away to nothing? Would she loss all of her hair? She had heard horror stories of chemo patients and she wondered if the pros outweighed the cons. Her doctor had reassured her that chemo was different for each person. It depended on their health as well as their body's ability to take on the chemicals as well as dealing with the cancer. She had prayed long and hard and had finally taken a deep breath and allowed herself to sit in the chair, bringing along one of her lab diagnostic manuals to keep on track with her work at the lab. 

The IV had been inserted into her arm and the chemotherapy had begun. It hurt a little at first, but then it simply felt awkwardly cold going into her veins. She had been offered snacks and juice to keep her appetite at bay and keep her strong. By the time the day was done, as it took many hours in a sitting for a treatment, she had felt completely and utterly exhausted. She'd taken a cab home and Mrs. Hudson had met her at the door, knowing she would probably be fatigued, and had helped her up to bed. After a rest she had felt better, but a bit tired from then on out.

She had proceeded to continue the chemo three times a week. Each and every treatment left her exhausted. Sherlock and John would often come home in the evening after helping Lestrade or, reluctantly, Mycroft on cases and find her in Sherlock's chair, watching the telly or curled up with a book. Sherlock would loving plant a kiss on her cheek or her forehead, sometimes noting she felt quite warmer than she probably should and chalking it up to the chemo doing its job. 

Molly especially enjoyed the evenings when they would gather around the table for dinner, as Sherlock took to preparing meals more often now, and was quite good at it. Then Sherlock would usually prepare a nice warm bubble bath for her and sit with her in the tub, allowing her to lean back on his naked chest as he soaped her up or washed her hair, rattling on about the days happenings and how clever this criminal had tried to be and failed, or how John had been valiant and drawn his gun on the perp as they attempted to escape. Just another day of catching the bad guys. These wonderful evenings usually ended with Sherlock and Molly making love in the bed they shared, Sherlock being gentle and loving, as though he were afraid Molly would break if he were anymore passionate. Molly could not help but admit that her life was perfect, if not short lived it seemed.

Sherlock did not quite understand the toll the chemo was beginning to have on his newlywed bride until the day he came home and found her on the couch, seemingly near death. He had been at the lab, gathering some work to bring home to Molly, as he knew she hated the fact that she was on a medical leave and unable to work within the lab. He had taken to doing this often, as it pleased her, and he loved to see her happy. John was away to visit his sister for the day and this left an entire afternoon of possibilities for them to explore, which excited him. 

As he had entered 221B Baker Street, Mrs. Hudson had met him in a fluster of worry coming down the stairs. "Oh gods! There you are! I tried your mobile but you didn't answer!" She was stricken with panic, and Sherlock's heart leapt into his throat immediately at the sight of her. He took her by the shoulders.

"What?! What's wrong?!" He shook her a bit, not meaning to but realizing that something must be terribly wrong if she was this worked up. Mrs. Hudson pointed up the stairs at the flat.

"It's Molly. She came home from chemo today completely washed out. She couldn't make it up the stairs. I tried to get her to hail a cab to the doctor, but she insisted she was fine. I helped her to the couch and tried to feed her a bit of lunch but she wouldn't take it!" She turned and started back up the stairs, Sherlock on her heels until they reached the flat. Inside, Molly lay on the couch, pale and limp.

"Molly!" Sherlock called out and rushed to her, on his knees beside the couch and taking hold of her hands and feeling of her forehead. She was burning up, and a sweat had broken out on her skin, although it didn't seem to be cooling her down. He turned to Mrs. Hudson. "Get the thermometer." and she scurried off to find it. "Molly, love, answer me." Sherlock tried to wake her. Her eyes flitted open and relief washed over him like a chilling wave. 

"Sherlock..." Her voice was weak and mousey, and not anything like Molly, which frightened him. He took the thermometer from Mrs. Hudson as she brought it and took her temp. 102.3 F. "I took some Tylenol when I got home..." Sherlock turned to Mrs. Hudson once more.

"Yes, she did. That was about fifteen minutes ago though-" Mrs. Hudson answered. Sherlock thought that it was bound to kick in at anytime and decided a tepid bath was perhaps the best thing for her. 

"Come on, love. We've got to get you to the bath." He pulled Molly up into a sitting position, giving her a moment to get her bearings, thankfully coming around a bit more. She looked up at him, her face a show of agony. She was in pain, and it ached inside Sherlock to see it painted across her pretty face as so. She made to stand and he beat her to it, sweeping her up off of the couch and carrying her into the bathroom. Mrs. Hudson followed. "Mrs. Hudson, phone John. Alert him to the situation and ask of any advice." She nodded and hurried off. He shut the door behind them as he sat her down on the toilet. He began to run the lukewarm water, knowing it wasn't going to be a very pleasant experience but once that was needed. A knock came at the door as Molly slid herself into the floor. Sherlock made to help her back up but she shook her head and laid down upon the cool tile. 

Mrs. Hudson opened the door and handed him the phone before backing out and shutting the door. "John?"

"What's wrong, Sherlock?" John sounded panicked himself in a way. He could hear John's sister Harriet in the background questioning him.

"It's Molly. She's completely washed out. Temp of 102.3 F. She's not herself." Sherlock rambled.

"Did she have the chemo today?"

"I believe so yes."

"Why do you never go to those with her? She needs your support."

"I've offered but she's adamant that I don't attend. That's not the point, John I need your advice, what do I do?"

"Well, has she had any medicine?"

"Tylenol about twenty minutes ago now. I'm running her a tepid bath."

"Good, good. Any other symptoms?"

As if on cue, Molly sat up off of the tile floor and hurried to the toilet where she promptly began to retch and heave into it. Sherlock reached to pull her hair back and turn off the bath at the same time as he balanced the phone between shoulder and cheek.

"Well, she's throwing up now." Sherlock's heart was breaking at the sight of his love in such a state.

"Okay, don't panic. These are all normal symptoms of chemo. They were bound to hit sooner or later. Look in her medicine cabinet. She'll have some anti-emetics there to give. Phenergan I believe is what she has, but if there's any Zofran give that to her. The Phenergan is going to make her really sleepy when she takes it."

"Okay." He brushed back her hair over her ear as she finished her retching and she sat back against the wall. Sherlock pulled back his hand to see a few strands of her lovely hair had come out as he did so and he grimaced with a look of distaste. What is happening to my Molly?   
"Put her in the tepid bath. Remember, it's going to be very uncomfortable for her until the temp breaks. If it doesn't break, rush her to the hospital before it gets worse. Otherwise, she should feel much better once the temp breaks." John stated. "Is there anything else going on with her?"

Sherlock turned to Molly. "Can you speak to John?" She nodded and reached for the phone. John was at once in her ear.

"Is there anything else going on, Molly?" John asked. He shushed his sister concerned in the background.

"Well, I've been bruising a little bit here and there more often than I used to. The doctor says that will happen though, so I'm not too worried about it. Also, I've missed my period this month, but he said that would happen as well."

Silence for a moment. "How long has the nausea and vomiting been going on?"

"That just started. I've not had to deal with that right away before." Molly put a hand to her mouth, a sudden flip inside her stomach. It subsided, much to her relief. Sherlock sat beside her and watched her intently.

"Okay, I'm on my way back. Sherlock's going to have to try and break your temp, love. He's going to give you your nausea pills and then stick you in that bathtub. We need to discuss some things when I arrive, if you're feeling up to it." John sighed on the other end and Molly wondered what had spurred it, or if it had simple been one of relief. She didn't know.

"Okay. Thank you so much, John." She smiled tiredly as she hung up the phone and placed it on the floor. She felt dizzy. For once the headache was gone, but the plethera of symptoms she had received in exchange made her long for the migraines back. 

Sherlock took her flushed and feverish face in his hands and gazed into her tired but still mostly Molly eyes. "You ready, love?" She nodded, giving him her best smile, and he kissed her lovingly. He stood, rummaging through the cabinet for her pills, choosing the correct ones, and handing them to her to swallow with a glass of cool water. He then offered his hand and helped her to stand and also to keep her balance as she stepped into the lukewarm water. She cried out, as if a bucket of ice had been dumped on her. She began to hitch her breath as she forced herself to sit in the water. Despite the warmth of it, she felt submerged in the waters of Antarctica thanks to her fever. She sat and began to shiver and Sherlock became more anxious. She can't suffer, why do things have to be as they are?   
Without another thought, Sherlock kicked off his shoes and socks and climbed into the tub behind her, not bothering to remove his suit. He took her up in his arms and dipped the water in hand over her, which caused her to cry out more, but she understood it needed to be done. After she had been properly doused, he took her in his arms and she leaned back against him, trying to calm her breath, to slow her thoughts and the shivering that ravaged her. She felt nauseated again. Oh please, don't let me throw up in the bathtub on my husband. I don't think I have the strength to get out to the toilet in time...She closed her eyes, feeling Sherlock's loving embrace as he spoke softly to her, telling her how strong she was, how she could beat this, how much he loved her. She took deep breaths, and calmed herself. Within moments, she felt a cold sweat erupt on her brow and the ache in her body subside.   
"Thank gods..." She laughed. "I think it broke finally." She sighed. Sherlock ran his hand upon her brow, realizing it was considerably cooler and leaned back against the tile with a wash of relief as well. They lay in this way for half an hour, relaxing, taking in the calm and the quiet and the feel of each other in the water.

John had arrived an hour later, finding Molly sitting in the armchair with her book in hand and Sherlock sitting in John's usual seat, attempting to study a newspaper. John could see him peering over it occasionally, checking up on his love as she sat reading. She appeared to have a little color in her cheeks, and he grabbed the thermometer off of the table as he approached her. She obliged and allowed her temperature to be taken. 98.8 F. Much better. John smiled and congratulated her on the disappearance of her fever.  
He pulled up a chair from the table and sat. "We need to have a discussion." Molly was all ears, Sherlock leaned forwards, elbows on thighs to listen. "Molly, you've had the chemo for what, two and a half weeks?" Molly nodded. "And you were informed off all of the side effects, correct?" Molly nodded again. "Did you ever take time to discuss this with Sherlock?" Molly looked at her husband and regrettably shook her head no. Sherlock did not seem upset.

"And you, did you not think to try and include yourself in your wife's treatment?" John berated the consulting detective. Molly hung her head. Sherlock looked appalled. 

"I tried to accompany her, but she told me she wanted to do this on her own. If she needed me she'd tell me. I was respecting her space. Molly is severely independent in some things." Sherlock smirked at her, letting her know that he found this a respectable quality within her. Molly blushed a little redder in her cheeks. She loved the wide array of looks he gave her now that they were husband and wife and very much in love.

"Okay, well, I respect that, Molly. But he still needs to know what to expect if this is going to continue." John seemed saddened. "There will be exhaustion, fatigue. Loss of appetite, nausea and vomiting, hair loss, bleeding problems, bruising, memory problems, increased risk for infection. There's a lot to look out for." John explained to Sherlock. His face was a mask of indescribable confusion as he listened and Molly felt a pang of regret in her heart. 

"I- I didn't know. She seemed to be handling it fairly well..." Sherlock commented as he looked over to her. 

"I'm sorry, Sherlock. I didn't want you to have to see me in such a way." Molly felt the tears coming but was doing her best to hold them back. "Now do you see why I didn't want you to attend with me?" 

"I understand, but I'm your husband. I'm here to make you comfortable in any way I can." Sherlock seemed on the verge of tears himself and John had to look away from the pained look upon his face as he watched Molly fight her own urge to cry.

"Bad enough I have to go through with it, why drag someone through it with me..." Molly sobbed and began to cry. Sherlock was in front of her in an instant, pulling her close into his arms. She cried silently into his shoulder as he stroked her hair and held her tightly. 

"I will be there for you always, Molly Holmes. In sickness and in health, remember our vows?" Sherlock whispered in her ear and her heart swelled at the utterance of those words.

"Gods, I love you." She whispered back and he kissed the side of her head in response. John stepped back into the conversation and cleared his throat. The two separated and looked towards their mediator as he stood, hands behind his back, still solemnly observing. 

"One more thing, and I ask this purely from a professional point of view." John stated. The two looked on at him in silence. "Are you using protection?'

Molly blushed and amusingly so did Sherlock. John imagined he wasn't questioned often about his sex life. Molly shook her head. "No, we're both in good health in that department, we've never seen a need to. I was on the pill at the start, but once we were married..." John's face fell into a frown. Molly crinkled her brow. "Why is that such a bad thing?"

"You're to be warned to be on birth control while taking chemotherapy, Molly. If you were to becoming pregnant..." John wondered if he should finish the sentence and thought better of it. He pulled a test out from a sack he had placed on the table earlier and handed it to her. "I do find it strange that you were showing hardly any symptoms and now all of a sudden they've seemed to come on all at once. That and the fact that you've missed your period. Of course, that is a side effect but to be sure..." John shrugged.

Molly stood and nodded, heading into the bathroom to take the test. Oh gods...what if I am? The last thing we need is a baby being brought into the middle of everything. I've no idea how much longer I have, with or without the chemo and Sherlock left alone with a child to care for when I pass? That's cruel. Nonetheless, she took the test and laid it on the counter and left the bathroom to allow its time to pass.   
The three stood in the living room with little to say. Sherlock put his arm about her shoulders and held her close once more. Molly wondered what was going through his head at the moment. John checked his watch many times, until Molly took a deep breath and entered the bathroom to check the results. 

Sherlock watched John cautiously, wondering what would become of them. Is pregnancy such a bad thing? I've never dreamt of having children, but Molly would make such a wonderful mother...Why is John so upset? Sherlock's mind began to race, thinking of why pregnancy in Molly's condition would be so horrible of a thing to experience...  
Molly exited the bathroom with reddened, tear stained eyes and she looked to John. "It's positive. I'm pregnant." John's eyes grew wide for a moment and then he released the breath he'd been holding. "There can't be a false positive with chemo can there?" She choked out.

"I don't believe so. We need to contact your doctor straight away. You cannot be on the chemo whilst you are pregnant." John took up his cell phone and dialed her doctor and went into the next room to speak with him. Molly broke down into a waterfall of tears. Sherlock came to her, wanting to pull her in close but she avoided his touch and started into the bedroom, slamming the door behind her.

Molly collapsed onto the bed, hugging her pillow close. I'm pregnant. I'm a month married, almost three weeks into chemotherapy, and now I'm pregnant. Not only all of this, but I have brain cancer and I'm dying. Will this baby die with me if I don't live long enough to have it? I can't be so cruel to Sherlock...I can't do this. I can't. Her heart was shattered. She had been so happy, so content in her life as Sherlock's wife, and now she had been careless and gotten them into another painful predicament.   
Molly awoke to the squeak of the door as it opened behind her. The bed dipped and she knew it was her husband that was crawling into the bed next to her. He did not touch her, although now that she though about it she wanted nothing more. She reached back behind her and pulled his arm about her and he scooted up close to her, enough to spoon with her and hold her tight. He spoke quietly and cautiously. "Are you alright?"

"No, I'm not." Molly stated, no longer crying as she felt she had no more tears left in her. "I'm pregnant. I cannot put you and a baby through this with me." 

"You aren't putting anyone through anything." Sherlock stated matter of factly. "We should have been more careful. We've been so caught up in finding each other that we didn't think. But we are in fact married, Molly, and you'd be a wonderful mother." Molly's temper flared at Sherlock's lack of understanding. She turned to face him.

"Do you not see?" What if I die before the baby comes? What if the baby kills me or I injure it? What if the cancer progresses. I can't take the chemo now, you know." Molly tried to calm herself from berating him without due cause.

"I know. John explained to me the presidence of birth defects while on chemo. He's already informed the doctor and set up an appointment for your consultation." Sherlock informed her. Her mouth dropped in awe.

"Consultation for what?" She asked. Sherlock looked pained to tell her, as though she'd rejected him already.

"The surgery." He watched her eyes intently, begging her from within to not balk at this.

Molly was livid. "You signed me up for surgery without even...how could you?" Molly was taken aback and hurt. "I only agreed to chemo because your brother paid for our wedding and it was too much. I- I'm not ready for surgery. I don't want to die a vegetable." Molly wiped a stray tear away and Sherlock could not help his wounded expression.

"Molly..." Sherlock was panicked once more. He'd never considered it before, but knowing that his son or daughter was growing within his wife's belly made him overjoyed. 

"No, I'm not talking about this anymore tonight." She turned over, frustrated. She felt him make to move away from her and give her her space, but she changed her mind and took hold of his hand, pulling him back around her. "Just let me think on it...overnight. Don't leave me."

"I won't leave you." Sherlock kissed the back of her neck and she relished the feeling of his warm lips upon her clammy skin. 

"Don't hate me." Molly sobbed.

"I could never hate you. I just ask you to consider the possibilities." Sherlock answered and nuzzled into her hair. Molly calmed herself and hugged his arms close about her as she took to considering the possibilities of the child within her and the cancer that resided in within her like a parasite, threatening all of her wonderful opportunities once more.

Angsty. Sorry. It's an angsty night, and after this wonderful last few chapters of happiness, we need to be reminded that what Molly faces ahead is going to be a long hard road out of hell.


	11. Chapter 11

Molly awoke to an almost deafening silence. She turned onto her back groggily, running a hand over her eyes to brush the sleepies from them and glanced at the alarm clock next to their bed. It's cool blue numerals gleamed 9:30. She had lain down for a nap at about 3 pm and here it was nearly six hours later. I've been off of the chemo for going on almost a week and here I am still struggling to make a day of anything. She winced as she pulled the sheet off of her bare legs. The chemo had given her another side effect along with all of the rest it provided her: nearly everything that touched her caused her skin to ache. This, unfortunately, included the sunlight as well, and she had proceeded to lock herself up within the flat for the past week.

She swung her bare feet down to the floor and leaned forward with elbows on her knees, running her hands through her hair and fingercombing it. She pulled a hand away momentarily and took a look at the strands of hair that seemed to be falling out more and more lately. She sighed. At least she hadn't felt like death warmed over for a few days. The nausea and the feelings of lightheadedness she attributed to the baby that was currently growing in her belly.

Molly had gone to the appointment that was made for her, but was adamant with her doctor that she would not be discussing surgery. At least not yet. She discussed with him the options available to her concerning the baby and her brain cancer. She would not be able to continue the chemo, not even the oral medication she could have taken, as it would most definitely harm the baby and cause defects. She had wondered if the baby would cause her any undue stress while having the brain lesions. The doctor had reassured her, carrying a baby while she had the cancer would be trying on her body, but with the surgery, it could give her more years with her child. Chemo could be started once the baby was born, and post surgery to increase the chances of irradicating the cancer.

Molly had gone in to see the doctor possibly considering abortion. She had cried long and hard about that decision the previous night, not wanting to have to give up a child as she'd always wanted children. On the other hand, she could not risk dying with the baby still growing inside of her, or risk the baby being left to its father's care after she had passed. It would be undeniably cruel to leave Sherlock with his own child and no support. It just cannot be done. Molly sighed and shook her head.

Sherlock had taken to giving Molly a wide birth of space after finding out that she was pregnant. He knew what her options were and he suspected he knew what she wanted to do. He couldn't handle to consider it or think of the possibilities, and so he distanced himself to give her time to mull things over and think. He didn't sleep at night, not even willing to share the bed with Molly, as he wanted her comfortable. He'd taken up residence on the couch in the living room to allow her the flat for her use without his interference.

John had observed these goings on with a heavy heart. He was sympathetic to both sides. He had approached Sherlock at one point when Molly was in the shower. "You understand what is holding her back, do you not?"

"John." Sherlock leaned with hands on the table, shaking his head, not wanting to discuss the current situation with anyone. "I know what she is thinking, but if she just had the surgery..." Sherlock stopped himself there, already knowing the look on John's face without having to glance at it. "It's my child, John. It's our child together and she wants to..."

John put an arm about his friend's shoulders, understanding that the consideration of an abortion perhaps made Sherlock feel completely out of control with the situation and not at all comfortable. "Why are you giving her so much space? She needs you now more than ever."

"I told her to consider things. I do not wish to do anything she would consider as a 'guilt trip' or a push in a certain direction. This is her body and it's her decision." Sherlock took a deep breath and exhaled it. He was feeling more and more anxious nowadays than he had ever felt before in his life. Marriage to a terminally ill Molly was heartwrenching and exhausting...yet he longed to lay next to her, to hold her, to kiss her perfumed hair and reassure her that they only needed each other, that things would be fine. "She's been off the chemo, John. She's dying still and I cannot stop it."

"If she chooses to abort the baby," John swallowed a dry, hard swallow at the mention, as it brought a renewed look of pain across Sherlock's face. "Then she can continue the chemo with no problems. If she chooses not to, than perhaps she'll chose the surgery as well so as to make it to see your child live." John squeezed his shoulder. "You've just got to let her decide, and you're doing that. But don't distance yourself completely, Sherlock. Show her you love her."

Molly had emerged from the bathroom towel drying her hair and being none the wiser as the two had fallen into working on yet another case.

Now Molly sat considering. She had a hell of a decision to make. If I had the surgery, I could run the risk of becoming a vegetable. That singular thought horrified her. She wished to know herself until the cancer progressed to a point where she wouldn't, or she'd already be long gone. On the other hand, the statistics are good in that it wouldn't happen. That is, if the cancer hasn't metastisized to the rest of my body, or further into my brain. It's a risk, but is it really worth taking? Molly remembered the doctor telling her that she may require physical therapy after her surgery, that it would take a month or so to fully recover from the surgery if everything went ideally...That with being pregnant on top of it all would be a challenge. Since when this began did I not like the idea of a challenge? My entire life has become a challenge. I've overcome many things so far, and succeeded in a few things I'd never believed I'd have a chance at...

Molly glanced up, her decision made. She sighed as she stood, gaining her balance, as she was still undeniably tired from the toll the chemo had taken on her body. She padded lightly into the living room, noting her husband laying on the couch staring up at the ceiling. He didn't seem to notice her at first, and then as she neared he turned to look at her. His face was a testament to insomnia, worry, stress, and sorrow. Normally Sherlock was very well versed at disguising such emotions, but he seemed to be wearing thin. Molly's heart dropped at the sight. She approached him and stood beside the table, hands wringing, in her bathrobe and panties. She hadn't even thought that John could possibly be in the nearby area.

"Where's John?" She asked, realizing that she was scantily dressed. Not that John was a threat.

"Upstairs, asleep most likely." Sherlock answered. He rose to a sitting position and looked at her as she stood all mussed hair and poor posture. His heart swelled to see her up and engaging him, as there hadn't been much interaction in the past few days. He missed her.

"I want to talk to you about..." She stopped, knowing that he knew this moment had been coming. He gulped but that was the only reaction that he displayed for her. He nodded. She came and sat down on the table facing him on the couch. They were less than a foot away from each other, yet Sherlock made no motion to reach out and touch her, as he feared anything might force her decision another way. He was fearful to influence her and Molly noticed this. "I've been thinking really hard about it and I just thought you should know."

"Whatever you've decided, Molly, I will stand by you in it." Sherlock spoke. Molly froze in her speech she was beginning. "Your life, your decisions. I am here to support you. Whether it be as husband or friend. I am here for you." Sherlock finished, Molly sensing the tears that were pricking his eyes but he refused to let them fall.

"I know, and I will forever be grateful that you've taken me on as you have. There is no better hands for me to be in than yours, Sherlock." Molly reached out and brushed his cheek. He closed his eyes, relishing the touch he'd denied himself and a tear fell upon her hand as she did so. She wiped it away, another fracture in her heart at the pain that Sherlock was experiencing, merely from loving her. "I've decided to keep the baby."

Sherlock's eyes flew open. He searched her golden brown eyes for reassurance that she meant what she had just said. She nodded, running her thumb upon his cheekbone as she loved to do. "You want to?" Sherlock spoke as if he had prepared himself for the worst and received the most elating news he'd ever heard.

"Yes. I spoke to the doctor. The prognosis is good if the lesions haven't spread. It isn't a cure, Sherlock. You realize that don't you?" Molly let her own tears fall as she spoke. He put his hand on her hand as she stroked his cheek and nodded. His hand was warm and strong, and yet he appeared so very vulnerable in this moment that Molly was taken aback. "It will give me a few years on its own, the chemo afterwards will possibly give me a few more. That's only if it's successful. So we must keep a level head." Sherlock nodded once more. Molly took hold of his hands and placed them softly upon her belly. She was only a month along, and so no bump could be felt. That did not diminish the fact that their child was growing there. He held her belly in his hands lovingly, carefully, and finally he smiled through his tears. Truly happy, truly relieved. Molly relaxed, knowing that she felt confident in her decision, feeling excitement that she was pregnant. She was going to be a mother, as she had longed to be for many years now.

"Do you think it's a boy or a girl?" Sherlock asked her as he looked on at her stomach and felt of it in excitement. Molly giggled. Sherlock basked in its musical tone, joy the only describable emotion he could put a word to.

"I don't know, but I'll be happy with either." Molly laughed and threw her arms about his neck, hugging him tightly to her. She didn't care that her skin ached at the touch of his shirt or the flourish of curls that brushed her arm. She kissed him, and he took hold of her in his arms, longing to hold her and touch her, the mother of his child, and melted into her in that moment. They broke the kiss without knowing how much time had passed, or caring. "You've been absent from our bed for far too long, Mr. Holmes." She whispered and rubbed her nose to his. Obligingly he stood and collected her up into his arms as she cried out in surprise and laughed. He carried her to the bedroom, swinging the door shut with his foot after entering and set her down. He ran his hands down her body, feeling her curves through her silk bathrobe and aching to touch her, to rejoice in her body and feel closer to her than anyone could ever feel in a physical sense. "You do know that we can have sex until the third trimester, don't you?"

"It won't hurt you or the baby?" Sherlock questioned as he stripped off his t-shirt and allowed Molly to kiss around his chest and his abdomen. Her touch and lips upon his hot skin sent pulses of pleasure that pooled into his groin and stirred him. She shook her head and allowed him to untie her robe and slip it off of her slender shoulders, revealing her nakedness albeit for her pink silk panties. He slid his hands down her hips and into her panties, holding her as he kissed her once more. Molly felt her insecurities slipping, only wanting the love of her husband; his caresses, his kisses, his strength, his desire for her that made her feel incredibly sexy.

He pulled down her panties as he went to his knees, momentarily confusing her as he did so. She caught her breath as his incredibly talented tongue found its way to her most private parts and she looked down upon his dark twisted curls as he kissed her in forbidden places, hands upon her hips to hold her to him. She felt her knees weaken as the heat within her grew, and she ran her fingers into those curls and tightened her grip as he brought her to orgasm within minutes. As he finished, he glanced up at her and smirked, as if he knew he had been naughty. She brought him up to her, taking him into her mouth and tasting herself. She blushed at the thought, but felt there was nothing more natural. After all, he kissed her after she went down on him.

He brought her into an embrace and walked her backwards to the bed, laying her upon it and on top of her, the world around them blurring and disappearing as they became entwined. His pajama pants disappeared, and before Molly could protest he was inside of her and thrusting gently. The heat had found its way back into the sensitive areas that he was currently stroking and loving and Molly put her arms about his back as he loved her, holding him close. I'm married to this amazing man. I'm going to be a mother. Oh gods, I'm going to be a...Her thought processes once again were jumbled as he brought her toppling over the brink once more. She wrapped her legs about him and held him captive within her as he quickened his assault and came loudly within her. He buried his face in her hair and breathed heavily. Molly stroked the back of his head in a loving gesture, playing here and there with his curls.

"I love you." Sherlock breathed into her ear as he calmed himself. She could feel his heart pulsing away within his chest as he rested against her and stroked her skin with his nimble fingers.

"I love you." She smiled as she whispered into his ear. She could feel him smile and she giggled once more.

"Gods," Sherlock said as he nuzzled her. "I'm going to be a father." Molly closed her eyes at the mention of their situation once more. She was all at once excited and overwhelmingly frightened.


	12. Chapter 12

"I'll be right here when you come out. I've spoken to the doctor, and he's going to let me be in with you while you're in recovery." Sherlock was stroking Molly's hair as she sat on the gurney in the surgery waiting room. She was shaking, wringing her hands as she waited. She had never been very good at waiting for anything, patience clearly not in her genes. Molly nodded, but her mind was racing. She was starting to regret agreeing to this. Someone is going to be poking around in my head. They could mess something up. Or perhaps the cancer's metastasized and once they get in they might realize that it's too far gone and it'll be all for naught. Molly had always been a bit of a worry wart, but this was driving her crazy.

John entered the waiting room and took hold of Molly's hand. She forced a smile for him and squeezed his hand. Sherlock nodded at John for his thanks in coming. "You ready for this?" John asked.

Molly answered "No." in a voice that was barely audible. Sherlock frowned, his brow creased with worry. He knew that this had to be a decidedly huge undertaking for his wife, but was overjoyed that she had chosen this and their baby's life over what could have been. John gave her an understanding smile.

"He's the best. He's done this thousands of times before, you couldn't be in better hands." John reassured her as Sherlock continued to stroke her hair, not minding that a few strands were still coming out when they shouldn't be.

A knock came on the door. The surgical nurse entered with a friendly smile. "We're ready for you." She brought Molly a blue surgical scrub hat and Sherlock helped her to stuff all of her hair within it. As she lay back on the gurney, Sherlock had a momentary feeling of anxiety. She didn't look the same laying there in a blue and white hospital gown with that bluish cap on her head. Her color was washed out, her eyes wide with fear, her mouth drawn into a tight line. What have I asked her to do? Sherlock leaned forward as another nurse came into wheel the gurney down the hall. They unlocked the wheels and Sherlock took her hand and followed her out of the room and down the hallway. John waved to her, wishing her well, but stayed behind.

Sherlock only had eyes for his Molly as they walked down the hallway towards the surgical suite. She was looking straight up, perhaps mentally preparing herself for what was really happening. The fluorescent lights washed over her intermittently and Sherlock felt his blood pressure rise at each one. Each one that brought them closer. He hadn't felt this troubled since she had initially refused his proposal. This time the anxiety was building up and it was worse.

They came to a slow rolling stop in front of the sterile metal double doors. "This is as far as you can go until recovery, Mr. Holmes." The nurse smiled at him, but was firm in her statement. Sherlock leaned over the gurney and gave Molly a deep, loving kiss. In that moment, he felt he would never see her again. His eyes were wide like hers now. He leaned in close to her ear.

"You don't have to do this." He whispered to her, his voice becoming somewhat choked. Molly closed her eyes, feeling the tension that was radiating off of the both of them. She looked him in the eyes.

"I love you. Wait for me." She kissed him once more and nodded to the nurses, who then rolled her inside the surgical suite and away from the man she loved most dearly. Sherlock watched after her, a near panic attack eminent, and stood watching the door with a blank expression for a long while afterwards.

John watched Sherlock pace back and forth across the waiting room lobby. He hadn't been able to sit still ever since John had brought him back from his vigil standing outside the suite in the hallway. That had been a trial. He had reassured Sherlock that they would bring him regular updates during the surgery and that waiting outside the door would not speed things along.

Now they were on hour four of surgery and Sherlock had not stopped pacing since he'd entered the room. The receptionist was nice enough to offer them something, but Sherlock would not even respond to her. He barely responded to John's menial questions here and there about their plans for the baby and the like, trying desperately to take Sherlock's mind off of what was happened at this very moment. He finally stood and took Sherlock by the shoulders. "Sit down."

"I can't. You know that." Sherlock avoided eye contact, but went back to pacing back and forth. John sighed and took hold of him, forcing him down into a chair.

"Talk to me."

"About what?"

"You know bloody well what. Tell me what you're feeling." John leaned forward, facing his friend and trying his best to get him to open up. "It's going to eat you alive if you don't talk about it. Talk to me."

Sherlock stared back into John's eyes and John could see the terror and anxiety that swam within them. They were a brilliant shade of sapphire from the tears that threatened to come but were not allowed. "I think I pushed her in the wrong direction."

"Why do you think that?"

"Did you not see her, John? Before she was wheeled back? She was placid and pale and...horrified." Sherlock ran his hands through his hair as he usually did when he was frustrated or upset.

"You think it's your fault she feels that way?"

"Yes. I wanted her to keep the child. I wanted her to have the surgery since she couldn't continue the chemo...It's all my fault. It wasn't her choice." Sherlock sighed and hung his head.

"It was her choice, Sherlock. You gave her such a wide berth of space in her decision making she couldn't have been persuaded by anything other than her own thoughts. She went to the doctor appointment by herself and discussed the issues she wanted to discuss without you there to poke and prod. I believe she made her own decision. Anyone would be scared going into brain surgery. Wouldn't you even if you had no one to come home to afterwards?" John put a comforting hand upon his shoulder and squeezed it to express his care and concern.

"I'd be anxious at the very least." Sherlock mumbled, but his face showed that he was considering what had been said to him. "You don't think I forced her into it?"

"By no means. Molly is becoming fearlessly independent in her dealings with her condition. You know this. She's decided to make the best decision for you, for her, and for the baby. You did not force her into anything." John gave him a smile and Sherlock seemed to loosen a bit.

"I'm scared for her, John. I don't feel fear very often, let alone express it." Sherlock eyed him cautiously.

"I know. She's humanized you a bit. This entire experience has brought you further out of your shell than I could have." John sat back, observing the time on the clock and also the emptiness of the waiting room.

"Is that a bad thing?" Sherlock questioned. John shook his head no. Sherlock returned the smile somewhat and went back to running his hands through his hair, anxiously awaiting word of Molly under the knife.

A few minutes past hour six a nurse emerged, her eyes on Sherlock and he stood immediately, awaiting word. The first few reports had been general at best, but at least they weren't bad news. She came in and stood in front of him. "Mr. Holmes, I've got some good news and bad news." She asked him to sit, and sat herself, but Sherlock couldn't. His worst nightmare was coming true. He didn't want to hear any bad news in any case, especially this one. "Molly's heart stopped while she was on the operating table and we had to stop the surgery to resuscitate her."

Sherlock's face went as white as a sheet. Oh gods, no. NO. He felt weak kneed and John jumped up to help him down into the seat so he didn't accidentally sit into the floor. The nurse watched and assessed him, making sure he was okay. He simply stared at her, his face regaining that blank expression he was so very good at. "Is she-"

"No, no!" The nurse put a hand out to touch his and he pulled away, not wanting any human contact at the moment, not if it wasn't Molly. "We were able to revive her and she's had a strong heartbeat and blood pressure ever since. We aren't sure what caused the arrest but I assure you she is alive and doing well." Sherlock felt the relief wash over him like a cold wave. He stared at the nurse. "The good news is the lesions haven't metastasized, and so the doctor was able to remove them all."

John clapped Sherlock on the back, ecstatic in the news they were receiving. Sherlock didn't react, simply listened in case there was more to hear. "How much longer til she's in recovery?"

"Within the hour. I'll notify you when she's there so you can come back with her." The nurse smiled and stood.

"Thank you." Sherlock mouthed and she nodded to him, heading off then in the direction of the surgical suite that she had come from. Sherlock felt so lightheaded he thought he might pass out. John had an arm about his shoulders to steady him.

"You okay?" John asked.

"For a moment I thought-" Sherlock wiped his eyes, still not allowing the tears to fall. They would not fall until he saw his Molly. Knew that she was well.

"I know, but she's okay. Sometimes it happens and we don't know why. But they brought her back. Just have faith, Sherlock." John reassured his friend, who wrung his hands and wiped the cold sweat he'd broken out into off his forehead with shaky hands.

The light was blinding as Molly made to open her eyes. They weren't responding correctly, flittering open here and there, but not fully opening. She felt something deep within her lungs for a moment before it was removed and she coughed and sputtered a bit as her gag reflex kicked in. There was the sound of suction, and her mouth felt somewhat numb and foreign. She attempted to move her head, although that wasn't responding correctly either.

"You're alright." She heard a female voice. "You're waking up from surgery, Molly. Just try to relax. It will all come to you slowly." The nurse. It's the nurse that took me in. Molly relaxed. An oxygen mask was placed across her face and she didn't fight it. She tried to breath deeply and found that difficult as well. Medication from the surgery, that's all. You're fine. You're alive. Molly echoed the last part of that shimmering thought over and over in her mind. She had made it through.

A hand slid into her own and squeezed tight off the right side of her. She couldn't open her eyes fully yet, and she didn't try. Sherlock...She could faintly hear the nurse conversing with the holder of her hand before she felt the presence lean forward over the gurney and lay a warm kiss upon her forehead. "Molly, I'm here." Her heart rejoiced. She knew her love, she was alive and breathing on her own, she had survived the surgery. She only wondered how successful it had been. "Relax, love, I'm not going anywhere." Sherlock spoke to her and she decided perhaps another nap was in order as the medication was still making her sleepy.

The next time Molly opened her eyes she was nearly blinded by sunlight filtering into her hospital room. She noted the flowers that lined the room and it made her happy to know there were so many thinking of her. She made to move her head and found that she could to a sloppy degree, as the pain medicine still had hold of her. No headache, not going to complain. She glanced down to see Sherlock once more sitting in a chair by her bedside, passed out asleep across her bed, one hand within hers, the other upon her belly. Molly was touched. She had made the right decision. Sherlock was as attached to the child growing within her as she was growing to be. She moaned, finding it hard to work her motor control here and there and this roused Sherlock from his sleep.

He instantly snapped awake as she moved and gazed at her with loving, happy turquoise eyes. "Hi."

Molly grinned sleepily at him and answered "Hi." She yawned, as if waking up from the longest nap she'd ever taken. "How'd it go?"

Sherlock sat up and pulled his phone out, probably texting John that she'd awoken and tucked it back in his jacket pocket. "It went beautifully. The doctor was able to get all of the lesions because they hadn't metastasized. You were under a total of seven and a half hours and in recover for two." Sherlock couldn't contain himself as he bent forward and kissed her. Molly held the kiss as long as she could, relishing the feeling of his velvety lips upon hers and his happiness washing over her like a warm comfortable blanket.

"No problems then?" Molly asked. Sherlock hesitated.

"You coded on the table, but they were able to bring you back with no problems." Sherlock was a bit more serious as he answered her question, but Molly felt reassured that everything was indeed okay. She was still alive and her cancer was gone. "The doctor says even though he was able to remove the lesions, the cancer causing cells could still be present so you'll have to do the chemo after the baby is born." Molly nodded. She could live with that.

As if on cue, the doctor and John appeared in the doorway, deep in conversation. John looked happy as he had heard the good news and came to give Molly a congratulatory hug. "There's Sleeping Beauty!" He joked as he hugged her.

The doctor set down his chart and held his hands out. "Time for neuro checks." He smiled at her and she made to raise her hands up to meet his. He performed the usual tests, the hand squeezes, the pushing against his hands, the light in the pupils and the like. He hmmphed about halfway through and Molly's smile faltered. "It seems you've got a little bit of retardation in your motor skills, Mrs. Holmes. This is a normal side effect of the surgery, as we were cutting and poking around on the areas that control that due to the lesions." The room was quiet. "That's what the physical therapy is for. It doesn't seem like anything serious. You'll just need to rebuild a few neural pathways and you'll be yourself wholely once more." He smiled again, and she matched it. She had expected as much. She only hoped it wouldn't impede her pregnancy any. Oh, the baby!

"How is the baby, doctor? Any problems?" Molly asked and felt her throat go dry at the mention of it. The doctor smiled at her.

"The baby is fine, no problems, not even from when you coded, as you were brought back so quickly there was no damage to you or the child. Everything is fine. I believe the surgery has given you at least two to three more years without chemo follow up, which I must insist you do, if not for you than for your child. With the chemo, the cancer could be completely erradicated or it could at least hold the cancer off for another five to ten years." The doctor patted her shoulder and made his exit. Sherlock smiled at her and she kissed him once more. He rubbed her belly lovingly as he kissed her and Molly could not help but be overjoyed at the prognosis the surgery had given her. Perhaps I do have a chance at a long life with my little family. Molly closed her eyes in thankfulness to her God above for giving her the chance to be part of her loved ones lives for perhaps a little longer. Only time would tell whether they would be able to fulfill another ten years without returning lesions.


	13. Chapter 13

Molly sat in Sherlock's armchair watching her favorite telly, hands rubbing her ever growing belly as she noshed away on some chocolate. She was nearly out. She'd probably have to send Sherlock or John out for some more. She glanced over at the microscope that sat on the desk and the set of books that sat beside it. She really should crack one open and do some work. Perhaps later. After my show's done. She caught her breath as a tiny foot kicked her squarely in the ribs. She placed her hands over the spot, wondering if she'd be able to feel her move with her hand instead of her insides this time. She kicking subsided, her baby finding a comfy place and settling. Oh well, there's plenty of time for that. She noshed away.

Molly was currently five months along, and had enjoyed every minute of her pregnancy going on from her surgery. She could still reach up to the back of her head and feel the slight rumple of a scar from where the doctor had cut into her skull to cut away the cancerous lesions that were taking over her brainstem and her cerebellum. Her stomach would flip whenever she remembered back, but she was grateful everyday that they were able to get all of them. She wondered how she would do without taking any kind of chemo while she was pregnant. The doctor had already cut down her meds a significant amount, as he feared too many would possibly harm the baby. She had to be careful in everything she did until she had the baby.

Much to everyone's relief, Molly hadn't had a reoccurence of her headaches since the surgery. Her chemotherapy side effects had subsided as well. Her physical therapy had been long and tedious, a good three months worth of trying to regain complete control of her motor functions. She could walk and function rather normally, but her mind responded too slowly to some things and occupational therapy had been instituted to get her back to her normal functioning level.

Sherlock had been amazing throughout the entire process. He made every appointment, refusing to allow Molly to attend anything related to the baby or her condition without being present. He wanted to accompany her on her journey, and hearing that she'd died upon the operating table momentarily was enough to scare him into being more firm with her considering such things. He was incredibly considerate, as the old Sherlock hadn't been, and was at Molly's beck and call for anything and everything she desired.

Most often Molly desired him, as her hormones had sparked an insatiable desire within her. The doctor had cleared her as long as she wasn't too strenuous in her affections, and Sherlock had been as gentle and caring as ever as he loved her. When she didn't desire her husband, she desired food. Most often it was chocolate, occasionally macaroni and cheese or fish fingers which she had originally despised until she'd had an overwhelming craving for them at a restaurant when she'd picked the smell out of thousands and requested it instead of her usual. Sherlock and John were both amused.

Molly chuckled as she remembered the day that Sherlock had caught a case of sympathy symptoms. Molly had had a horrible case of morning sickness and had spent most of her day in the bathroom retching. Sherlock had walked in, pulling her hair back for her lovingly as he often did, but almost immediately he was gone, rushing down the stairs to Mrs. Hudson's apartment to throw up unceremoniously in her bathroom. Sherlock had had to do this at least four times, until Mrs. Hudson allowed the poor man her bathroom and ventured upstairs to look after Molly. Ever since, Sherlock occasionally had a strange craving for a food, or a back pain out of nowhere that he couldn't explain. Molly thought it was adorable. She wondered if it was this bad for him now, what would her labor be like? Did men experience sympathy labor pains as well? That would be a trial. I certainly hope that's not the case.

John entered the flat, knocking on the door and Molly looked up with a smile. "How are we both doing?" John asked as he came over and kissed her on the forehead.

"Well so far. Doing a lot of stretching today." Molly answered in between a mouthful of chocolate. John watched her from the kitchen as he poured himself a glass of milk.

"Glad you're doing that with sugar and not salt." John stated. "Better watch it though. Gestational diabetes would be horrible for someone in your condition." John smiled as he joined her, sitting in his usual chair and glancing at the telly.

"Where's Sherlock?" Molly asked as she readjusted in her seat.

"Lestrade's got him at a crime scene. Last I heard they were headed back to Scotland Yard. He should be home soon." John watched the show with her for a bit before dozing off. Molly smiled. She was loving life, all of its little eccentricities and twists and turns. As she changed the channel on the tv, a pang erupted just above her right eye. She grunted and put a hand up to pressurize the area, and it went away as soon as it had come. That was strange. Twenty minutes later, the pain returned if only for a moment. Molly felt the anxiety begin to creep in. People get headaches and pains all the time. It doesn't mean there's anything wrong. She reassured herself and went on with her relaxation as John snoozed away across from her.

Sherlock walked in about an hour and a half later to find his two favorite people asleep in their respective armchairs, telly still on. He smiled, hanging up his coat and his scarf and heading over to Molly who awakened as he stroked her hair, cupped her face, and kissed her. "Good evening, love." She returned the smile through tired, sleepy eyes and took his hand, placing it on her belly and pressing in slightly to the left side. A foot greeted the intrusion and Sherlock's eyes widened. "Kicking!" Sherlock whispered excitedly, and Molly nodded. He kissed her once more through his smile, overjoyed at feeling his child greet his warm hand with a little foot.

"Been kicking me in the ribs all day." Molly giggled as she sat up. She winced, a hand going back up to her head. Sherlock furrowed his brow in concern.

"What's wrong? Headache?" Sherlock asked. Molly nodded, rubbing the area where the pain occurred. "Have you told John?"

"No, Sherlock. Not every headache means something malevolent is in there." She answered somewhat moodily. She looked up, watching him rub her growing bump with loving hands. "I'm sorry. I'm just kind of tired today. I think I ate too much chocolate." She motioned to the nearly empty bag and he chuckled.

"What are we feeling like for supper? The usual?" Sherlock asked as he entered the kitchen, already pulling out the proper pans for Molly's macaroni and cheese and fish fingers. Molly nodded, and the pain shot through her once more. Gods, no. This doesn't seem as it should.

"Mind getting me my medicine while you're up?" Molly called to him, not meaning to wake John, but he snorted and readjusted, rubbing his eyes. Sherlock went into the bathroom, returning with her medicine and a glass of water. She took the pills and drank down the water, noting she hadn't had enough of it today as she should have.

"What's going on?" John leaned forward, a hand upon her knee. She shook her head, not wanting to worry everyone. John glanced back at Sherlock as he prepared Molly's supper, but his face showed his growing concern. John stood. "How about I do that and Sherlock, why don't you get Molly into a bath. That might help her to feel better. I'll fetch you both when its ready."

Molly made to stand and Sherlock left his work in the kitchen to come to her and help her up out of the chair. Her hand instinctively went to her belly as she stood and his did as well. She grinned. He's going to make such an amazing father. Sherlock helped her into the bathroom and sat her down while he prepared the bathwater. He didn't mind doing whatever Molly needed, because he loved her so, and bathtime was fun regardless. He got to put his hands upon both of his loves.

While the water prepared he helped her out of her cardigan, shirt, bra, and sweats, as well as stripped off everything himself. He smiled down at her, a naked happy husband, and offered his hands to her. She took them and stood. He turned off the facet as she looked into the mirror. She looked down at her changing body and felt her confidence falter. I'm gaining so much weight, I've got stretch marks to the ends of the earth. Yuck. I must look so fat. She glanced up from her belly to note Sherlock standing behind her, pressing himself up against her and gazing at her in the mirror. he slid his hands around her baby bump and over her own hands. "I can read you like a book most times, Molly." He whispered softly into her ear. "But whatever doubts are registering within you, disregard them. You are the most beautiful thing to ever walk this earth. You hold my heart as well as our child within your amazing body." She turned to him and he kissed her and ran his hands through her hair.

She winced again as another pain rang through her to her right eye. His smile disappeared. He helped her into the bath and it felt incredibly relaxing and warm. Once more, as was his way recently, Sherlock climbed in behind her and bade her to lay back against him as he wet a washcloth and ran it over her body. She closed her eyes, enjoying the rise and fall of his chest, the strong beat of his heart, the sensation of his hands upon her as he bathed her and stroked her with the washcloth to relax her muscles. Heaven is this. Heaven are these moments. She felt incredibly blessed once more, as she was often reminded of little things everyday.

A tiny foot pressed up under her ribs again and she cried out "Oh!" still not completely used to the alien feeling. She rubbed her belly lovingly with her hands and Sherlock joined her, hoping for another kick as he did so. "Whatever it is, they've been really active today." She stated and proceeded to ask Sherlock how his day of crime fighting had gone. He was more than happy to fill her in.

Soon, John had knocked upon the door, and Sherlock had helped her out and toweled her off. She donned her newest bathrobe, as her other had become more like a shirt as her belly had grown. John had prepared a lovely feast for them all, and they sat at the table and ate. Molly had two helpings, her cravings growing stronger it seemed. The headache seemed to have dissipated for the time being, be it the medication or the relaxing bath she'd received she didn't know. She ate in silence as John and Sherlock discussed their most current case. She enjoyed listening to their back and forth banter.

She started to feel a bit tired and stood to use the restroom, contemplating crawling into bed afterwards. Sherlock smiled at her as she made her way and she was nearly there when she felt a sharp pain rip through her head once more and she cried out this time in pain. She was going down, lightheaded and dizzy. She had no time to hit the floor. Sherlock had caught her before she could fall and was laying her slowly into the floor. "What is it? Headache worse?" He asked her, anxious. She nodded. He looked up at John. "Call the ambulance. NOW!" He yelled out, as John was already on the phone doing so. He came over beside her as well.

All Molly could think about was that she wasn't dressed for the hospital. She pleaded with Sherlock to bring her her sweats and at least a t-shirt. He refused to leave her until John reassured him she was okay, and the ambulance was on its way. He rushed into the bedroom and returned with his t-shirt and sweats instead of hers. She managed a laugh, not knowing how her growing body was going to fit into those. Sherlock seemed to have realized his mistake and disappeared to return once more with her clothing. John turned his back, on the phone with Molly's doctor, as Sherlock sat Molly up from the floor and helped her to quickly dress.

The ambulance personnel would not allow her to walk herself out, but proceeded to load her up on a gurney to take her out of 221B Bakerstreet. As Sherlock followed, holding tightly to her hand, Molly glanced up to see a concerned Mrs. Hudson speaking with John. Only then did the frightened tears fall. Will I ever see 221B again? I don't want to spend the rest of my pregnancy or my life in a hospital. I won't do it. Please don't let this be anything that will keep me from returning. Sherlock was arguing with the ambulance driver. Before the man could complain, Sherlock was inside the ambulance, sitting next to Molly, one hand protectively on her belly as the other was squeezing hers tightly. "What's wrong? Tell me, love."

"I-" Molly sobbed. "I don't want to alarm anyone because it's probably nothing." Sherlock watched her intently. The ambulance worker climbed in and shut the doors and turned to her. "The baby."

"What's wrong ma'am? Is the baby active?" The worker asked as she took to hooking Molly up to the monitors.

"No." Molly cried and Sherlock pulled her head to his chest and held her tight. The worker set right to it, pulling out an ultrasound machine and jelly. She lifted Molly's t-shirt and spread the cold jelly on her belly and set to searching.

The next few seconds were the longest Molly believed in her life. She held her breath. She couldn't hear anything but the muffled ruffling static of the ultrasound machine. Gods, please. Molly closed her eyes and let the tears come, trying to keep still for the worker to do her job. Then it was there. Faint at first and then strong and quick. Their baby's heartbeat. It pounded through the ultrasound speaker relentlessly. "It's okay, ma'am. The baby has a strong pulse. Everything is okay." Molly physically slumped back on the gurney, Sherlock only tightening his embrace. Thank you...thank you...Molly repeated over and over in her head. Soon after followed a little kick as the baby fought off the intruding ultrasound wand as the worker glided it over her belly. She'd never been so thankful to be kicked in the ribs as she was in that moment.


	14. Chapter 14

Molly lay in the hospital bed curled up on her left side, as it was better for the baby. She was hooked up to various monitors and an IV, which she hated. Nothing was more uncomfortable than a piece of plastic within a vein in your hand. One hand curled about her belly, rubbing it lovingly, the other under her pillow where she rested her head. She waited, listening to the sounds of the bustling hospital outside her closed door, as well as the city sounds of London outside her window. The sun had given way to hide behind the clouds that were threatening rain. Let it come. It's exactly how I feel.

John entered quietly, sitting in the chair across from Molly's view and leaning forward. "Are you doing okay?" He asked, concerned. She didn't respond, only stared ahead through the window, watching the dark grey of the roiling clouds as the storm approached. He took the silence to mean no. "I've spoken to the doctor. He's on his way down from radiology to share your report with you."

"Where's Sherlock?" Molly asked quietly. She hadn't seen him since she'd fallen asleep earlier on that morning. It had been a long night of bloodwork and scans and tests. She imagined he had gone out for air, but it had been what seemed like hours since he'd disappeared.

"Downstairs. Lestrade came by." John answered. He leaned back in the chair, hands clasped together in his lap. "He really ought to be up here with you, but Lestrade is trying to distract him before he worries himself to death."

Molly stared on out the window. She longed to be back in 221B Baker Street, laying in their bed, watching her telly, visiting with Mrs. Hudson. Mrs. Hudson had swung by but it was only for a brief period, as the poor woman couldn't stand to see Molly in her condition and often ended up in tears, which only reminded Molly of her condition. John seemed to be the only friend she had in the world at the moment that didn't give her a poor pitiful Molly expression everytime they talked to her. She respected that. At least he was giving her her dignity. Sherlock tried, but often was found with a solemn expression upon his face, especially since their latest predicament.

The doctor entered, coming round to Molly's side of the bed. She met his eyes as he came to lean up against the window and flip through her file. "Well, Molly, I've gotten the report of the CT scan back. It turns out you've got a rogue lesion growing."

"I thought you'd said you were able to remove them all." Molly piped up.

"I was able to remove all that were present. Considering that you had to stop the chemotherapy due to your pregnancy along with the reduction in your medication, there was always a small chance that another lesion or two would be able to appear. We didn't expect one to pop up so quickly though." The doctor gave it to her straight, and she respected him for that too.

"So, what exactly does this mean?" Molly asked with a sigh as she continued to rub her belly to remind herself that there was a little life inside of there that was still fighting for a chance to meet its parents.

"It means a gradual increase in your medications to slow the growth until you're able to deliver. If the lesion grows too rapidly we would be forced to take the baby sooner than expected. I know you want to deliver naturally, but in the case when it comes to your life and the baby's we would have to discern what would be best for you both." The doctor flipped another few pages. Molly nodded her understanding. "We are going to do our best to prevent having to do that. I'm confident if we push your medication levels to just under risk level we would be able to slow the lesion until immediately after birth, then start you on an especially strong dose of chemotherapy to shrink the lesion back down."

"Okay." Molly nodded. Her heart was breaking. It was going to come down to a race against time. Another four months of outrunning a brain lesion to make it to birth. Then a strong dose of chemo to attack it after the baby was safe. Hell, the chemo alone might kill me. John watched her carefully, noting her reactions to the doctor's words. He wished that Sherlock would hurry his ass up and get back to the room where he was needed. Whether he was finding it hard to deal emotionally or not, he needed to support Molly as he had promised to do. Lestrade was a distraction, and that was all and well, but now the news was being delivered and things were going to be a teeter totter from here on out.

"Do you have any questions?" The doctor asked. Molly shook her head no. The doctor made to leave after explaining what medications he would increase and when she would expect to start. "You will be able to leave in the morning if the medications do not affect you in any adverse way. Oh, and I have the results of your ultrasound." This peaked Molly and John's interest. "Would you like to know the sex of your baby?"

Sherlock wandered up to Molly's hospital room with a heavy heart. He had not expected the after effects of a shock such as they received to be effecting him so. He noted Molly on her side facing away from him and snuck in, thinking she was asleep. "I was wondering where you'd gone." She spoke firmly but softly, sadly. Sherlock closed his eyes but continued into the room.

"Lestrade asked me to accompany him to a crime scene for input." Sherlock answered as he neared the bed. He stopped as he reached it. "I apologize for being gone so long. I got caught up in the case."

"It's okay." Molly said. Sherlock's mouth was cotton, his stomach tied into knots. John had relayed the doctor's words to him after leaving Molly to doze after an hour or so. Sherlock didn't know what to say. He had thought that the surgery would be a quick fix but he should have thought that more lesions would be able to grow. This genius brain and even I didn't see the possibility of that? I was blinded by the joy of having my wife and my baby in good health, not the future of her possible demise and an early delivery.

"Have I angered you?" He asked as he removed his coat and scarf and laid them in the chair. John had gone home to check on Mrs. Hudson and have a rest. They'd both been spending a lot of time at the hospital lately and it was nice to have a rest in your own bed once and a while so that Molly wasn't left alone. He climbed in slowly behind Molly in the bed, running his warm arms about her and resting them on her pregnant belly. Molly closed her eyes, loving the feeling of loving arms about her, especially since they were her Sherlock's.

"No. John was here for me." Molly took a deep breath, her excitement once more rising inside of her. "I do have a surprise for you though." Sherlock raised his eyebrows at the mention. "Reach under your pillow and have a look."

Sherlock did as instructed, pulling out a pink onesie with the words 'Daddy's Girl" embroidered on it. Mrs. Hudson had taken the liberty of doing one in pink and one in blue, decidedly not knowing which it would turn out. Sherlock simply stared at the onesie, not knowing what to say, his mind racing. We're having a girl! He feared his heart would leap out of his chest as his own excitement grew. "So we've decided a name then as well?" Sherlock had hoped for a girl, he couldn't name the reason why, but it looked as though he'd gotten his wish. Molly had allowed him to decide on the name if he was correct about the sex. Molly nodded. He smiled as he said it out loud, as if merely saying it made it all the more real: "Abigail."

Molly felt a tear slide down her cheek. They were having a little girl, which pleased her as she didn't really mind which sex the baby was, just as long as they were healthy and she was able to meet her little one before something happened to her. She had imagined Sherlock holding their child, cradling it in his arms as though it were the most valuable thing in the world and deserved to be touched and kissed and loved. "You know about the lesion."

Sherlock's smile faltered at the mention. "Yes. But you are a strong woman, Molly. You can beat this. You've got to give it a go, and not give up."

"I won't give up, Sherlock. The baby needs me to be strong in body and mind so that I can deliver her to us safely and healthy." Molly was getting a bit choked up. "But you have to face the fact that after she's here I may not be long after."

Sherlock didn't want to hear this. He couldn't imagine a world with Abigail and no Molly. Who would teach her the womanly things she'd need to know? He was almost certain that John would help to raise the baby, but that should be Molly's job not a makeshift uncle's..."I won't think about it until it's a reality."

Molly was agitated. Abigail responded with a stiff kick that Sherlock and Molly both felt. "You will plan for it now. It may not happen, but I will not leave Abigail in the hands of someone so overcome with grief that he can't look after her."

Sherlock sat up, also becoming frustrated and a little bit wounded. "What? Are you saying that I wouldn't be able to care for her if you were dead?" Molly winced at the words.

"What I'm saying, Sherlock, is you have to be somewhat prepared-"

"I would be able to care for a child by myself. I'm not incompetent." Sherlock rolled out of the bed and made to reapply his scarf and jacket. Molly rolled onto her back to view him. "I'm going back to the flat. I need some air. I'll send John." And with that he was gone.

Molly turned back over on her side, curling into a fetal position and letting loose the tears. She hadn't meant to upset him, but she agreed she could have come at him a little more delicately about it. Now she was all alone without John, Mrs. Hudson, or her husband to keep her company. All alone with her Abigail, whom she sang to, a little lullaby that her mother had once sang to her many years before, to calm herself and her kicking little girl.

John flew up out of the armchair from a deep sleep as the door to 221B Baker Street flew open and slammed shut. He heard the heavy footfalls of Sherlock ascending the stairs and looked at his watch, noting the time to be almost eleven o'clock at night. Sherlock came through the doorway and angrily removed his scarf and coat to hang it upon the door. "What are you doing here? Thought we were taking shifts."

"I had to leave before I became too angry. She doesn't need that now." Sherlock scoffed and wandered into the kitchen, banging about to preparing himself a drink. He felt he deserved one. John watched him confused.

"Angry at what?" John questioned.

"She doesn't think I can care for the baby if she's gone." Sherlock stated and slammed the glass onto the counter, nearly cracking it with the force.

"She said those words?" John asked, not believing that Molly would say anything as callous as that.

"Not exactly, but you get the meaning." Sherlock leaned on the counter, considering pouring himself a taller glass of the bourbon that sat before him in the bottle, mocking him.

"Exact words then, Sherlock." John was becoming a little frustrated himself. He wondered of Molly, who lay all alone in her hospital room with no one to keep her company, possibly frightening, and worried for her little one.

"I will not leave Abigail in the hands of someone too overcome with grief to look after her." Sherlock mocked as he spoke the words and grabbed the bottle to pour the drink. John put his hands on his hips and shook his head.

"Sherlock, you son of a bitch." John was heated towards his friend. Molly was being realistic, and Sherlock was too overcome with being bullheaded about her possible death that he was taking things too personally. "She didn't mean you were unable to care for your own child. She's wanting you to be prepared for anything in case something happens to her."

"She could have put it more plainly." Sherlock downed the drink and considered another, but thought better of it. "I'm not incapable of caring for a child."

"Gods..." John went to grab his coat and put on his shoes. "She never said that you dullheaded dimwit." He walked up to Sherlock and took hold of his shoulder for a serious moment. "I understand that this is hard for you, Sherlock. It is, and it should be. You've put yourself in a very delicate position with Molly. But you have to be realistic. She is. Now you've left her alone with the same thoughts as you've had and no one to comfort her when she needs it the most." John glared at him, feeling a bit sorry for him, but knowing he needed to play mediator. He hurried down the stairs and out of the flat to hail a cab.

Sherlock stood in the kitchen, alone with his thoughts, feeling horrible for storming out on Molly as he had. The more he mulled it over in his brain, the more he realized she wasn't trying to insult him, but to get through to him about her condition. I'm a shit husband. He realized one more drink would probably lessen his melancholy and poured it. He took to drinking it as he heard someone ascending the steps. He turned, wondering if John had returned to shove him out the doorway instead, to run back to his Molly and beg her forgiveness. To climb back into that bed with her and put his hands upon her belly and love them both once more.

He turned the corner out of the kitchen and into the living room to find none other than Irene Adler standing in his living room, wearing none other than a form fitting leather mini dress and holding a riding crop in her hand. She smiled at him with her devilish eyes. "Good evening, Mr. Holmes. Miss me?"


	15. Chapter 15

"Irene." Sherlock growled, and not in his usual sensually, sexy and baritone voice. The hairs on the back of his neck were standing at attention, his skin was covered in gooseflesh. Irene literally made his skin crawl. There was a time when the excitement of that clever female brain had spiked his curiousity. Now it only made the bile rise in his throat. He was in love with Molly, and Irene couldn't take a hint. "I thought I told you to leave us be."

"You know I don't take no for an answer, Sherlock." Irene smiled and swatted the riding crop against her hip as she walked closer to him. He wanted nothing more than for John to come swishing back through that door to give him another good talking to or for Mrs. Hudson to come barging up the stairs to ask about Molly. Hell, he'd even take it if Molly entered and gave Irene another piece of her mind. He could deal with her hurt feelings at finding them together alone in their flat at another time. He needed an escape and he didn't know how to provide himself one.

"You're going to have to learn then. I'm not interested and at this moment you're breaking and entering." Sherlock stood his distance from her and she rounded nearer to him than he liked.

"Going to call your Detective Inspector on me?" Irene laughed. Sherlock was getting nervous, and this was a rarity he only experienced when John or Molly were in danger. Was he fearing for himself? She walked about him, tapping the riding crop against her hip and looking him over. "Looks as if you've lost a little weight. You were skinny enough before. I'm sure you haven't lost any of your girth down below..." Irene let her sentence trail off from there and Sherlock swallowed. Hard. "Don't you miss the good time that we had? That one night together...I don't understand why you didn't make a return visit. It was quite obvious you enjoyed it."

"What male does not enjoy sex?" Sherlock scoffed at her. "It was merely a physicality. There were not feelings involved."

"Oh, I beg to differ." Irene stopped behind him. He glanced back at her over his shoulder, watching her warily. "Why else would you have come to my rescue? Because you were 'bored'? I doubt that." Irene was grinning like the chesire cat. "Curiousity? Perhaps. But there was something deep within that narrow chest of yours that was beating out my name while you were screaming it." Sherlock swallowed hard again.

"As I said before when you so rudely interrupted my honeymoon. I might have had the chance to love you at one time, but you are such a callous and greedy, cold hearted woman. The only feeling that was present was one of male horomonal wanting." Sherlock stated. He was beginning to get angry. Was he trying to convince himself that he wasn't attracted to her? How could one not be? She had the perfect measurements in her female anatomy. She was alluring and mysterious. Perhaps that's why Sherlock had chased after her. He was curious about her cleverness and her enigmatic brain...That's all. That's all it was. I'm married to Molly and her coldheartedness could never match Molly's liveliness.

Irene sighed and dropped her shoulders as she rounded him once more. "Oh, Sherlock. It was our callousness and coldheartedness that matched up so perfectly. Since you've married the Hooper girl you've grown soft." She stood in front of him, hands to her sides, still swatting her curvacious hips with her riding crop. "I doubt you could take my blows as well as you once did."

"For gods sake, Irene. It was one bloody night that meant nothing." Sherlock stared her down ferociously.

"As I said before, Sherlock." Irene rounded him once more, stroking his jacketed arm lightly as she did so. Sherlock scoffed once more at the touch, cringing from it somewhat. "I don't take no for an answer." Something sharp jabbed Sherlock in his arm and he grabbed at it. Well shit. This is vaguely reminiscent of the last time we met. Sherlock's vision went blurry as he fell to the floor, the only view being that of Irene's stilletto heels as she stepped into his line of sight.

John arrived at the hospital, charging up to Molly's room as fast as he possibly could. He viewed her through the window, laying on her left side towards the window. She appeared to be asleep, and John took the liberty of creeping in somewhat slowly so as not to wake her. "John?" She spoke up wearily.

John slumped his shoulders at being caught. "Was trying to let you sleep."

"I wasn't asleep."

"I figured not."

"Is Sherlock okay?"

"Sherlock reacts such as this and you're worried if he's okay?" John smiled, always noting Molly worrying more about someone else than her own self. He came around the side of her bed and sat up it, patting her on the leg as he did so. "Yes, dear. He's fine. As stubborn as ever, you know that. I'm so sorry-"

"You don't have to apologize for him. I could have been more delicate about it." Molly sighed. She was rubbing her growing baby bump and clutching the pink onesie to her as well. John's heart faltered a bit at the sight.

"Did you tell him?"

"Yes. I think he was happy about it." Molly smiled at him. Her eyes were tired and dark circles graced them. She seemed a bit pale, but no worse for the wear. Probably more from all the damned stress. John fumed. "Take me home, John."

"I don't know- I think perhaps you need to stay here a day or so longer and get your strength back."

"No. I can do all of that at home. Take me home." Molly searched his face for something, anything to connect with. John smiled at her.

"Okay. Let me go call your doctor." John patted her once more and gathered her clothes, laying them out on her bed for her to change into and left to arrange her release.

Sherlock awoke upon his bed in his bedroom in 221B Baker Street. He glanced druggedly around, noting all seemed to be in order. A bad dream? Did I fall asleep? He attempted to rise and found his hands ziptied to his bed posts and collapsed back onto the bed in frustration. "Careful now. I gave you a little bit bigger of a dose than last time. You seemed to have tolerated it well. I needed you out to transfer you." Irene came into fuzzy view from around the closet side of the bed. Sherlock squinted at her.

"You've still got quite a physique, love." Irene ran the riding crop down his cheek and he tried to flinch away from it. He glanced down, noting that he was completely naked save for his sheet that she'd graciously thrown over his lower half after undressing him. His cheeks flushed with anger and embarrassment. "Remember this?" She held the riding crop up in front of his face where he could make out its fuzzy form. "Found it in Ms. Molly's office. I suppose it's the same one you tend to use in your work? Seems like we're in the same line then." Irene laughed to herself and Sherlock fought his restraints weakly. He didn't know if she'd already taken advantage of him or if she merely planned to.

"Let me go." Sherlock spoke but found it hard to make the words as well. Irene found this amusing and she continued to caress him with the riding crop.

"What's the fun in that? I'd rather just take you as I planned to. Although I did plan on a little more cooperation from you." Irene climbed gracefully onto the bed, and allowed Sherlock to view that she'd shed her leather mini dress in exchange for no top and a garter belt with very little covering anything up in the way of panties. Fuck. She straddled him and admired him from her point of view. "Why can't you just admit you like what you see and you want me? I'm not five months pregnant and dying."

"You're nothing but a high maintenance whore, Ms. Adler. My wife is much more than you could ever dream of being." Sherlock spat at her. She answered with a swift swat of the riding crop against his face. His cheek rang from the assault but he barely flinched.

"I may be that, but you're getting the full package free of charge, honey. I take what I want thanks to the new lease on life you gave me." Irene smiled devilishly at him. He could feel her attempting to grind against him and could not help but feel the stir that it produced. He felt ashamed to have a body that reacted in such a way as he was disgusted. "And I'll be taking you back now."

"I suppose you can add assault to your charges now." Sherlock quipped once more. Another blow was struck by the riding crop in her skilled hands, although she struck him this time on his bare nipple. The stinging flared through his body, and yet ignited a fire somewhere down below. He blushed a deeper red with shame.

"I'll be adding more to that once you're thoroughly fucked, Mr. Holmes. I aim to please." Irene grinned as she bent over, fully intent on laying a kiss upon the detective's lips. He tried his best to shy away, even to think about bucking her off, but feared she'd take it as a challenge and attempt more than just swatting at him with a riding crop. The kiss she received was tightlipped and angry.

Sherlock could not feel more blessed or embarrassed as he heard the door to 221B Baker Street open and two sets of footsteps upon the aging stairs.


	16. Chapter 16

"Mmmmm...who could be visiting you at this hour, Mr. Holmes?" Irene laughed as she continued to grind against Sherlock, with only her underwear and the thin cotton sheet between then. Sherlock's body was betraying him, and his shame and embarrassment were clearly visible. He tried his best to avoid the friction and heat between then, but Irene laviciously combined it with flicks to his bare skin with the riding crop that caused his body to cry out in pain as well as for more.

Sherlock could hear voices as they ascended the stairs slowly. He tried his best to pick out the voices. One voice was undeniable, and that was John Watson's. The other was too soft to make out. Please please please... Sherlock had originally thought he'd settle for being found by Molly, but as the voice became more apparent, his heart failed him and he prayed hard that it wouldn't be his terminally ill and pregnant wife that was with John. Maybe it's John's latest lady. For once I pray it is. The voice was softspoken, tired, and then there was the little giggle John illicited from the female as they topped the stairs. Gods, no...

"Sherlock!" John called out, wanting him to get up out of bed or wherever he was lurking within the flat to come and see his wife, surely. "Perhaps he's sulking in the bedroom." John sighed and the footfalls fell heavy upon the floor towards the bedroom. Here goes nothing. Sherlock met Irene's devilish gaze as John entered the bedroom doorway. John's first reaction was barely readable. He simply stood and stared, much like the first time he'd ever met Irene Adler. Then he glanced at Sherlock, an angry flare within his eyes. Sherlock shook his head vehemently.

"The usual line is this is not what it looks like, and that's precisely it." Sherlock stated, rather put out. Irene continued her assault upon him. Sherlock looked back up at her. "If you're quite finished. You've been caught. You can get off now."

"Oh I plan to." Irene quipped and winked at John. She took hold of Sherlock's delicate nipple between her fingertips and rolled it, causing him to squirm at the sensual painful mixture. John merely shook his head and turned to leave, taking hold of the doorknob and pulling it to.

"John? John! Don't leave me with her!" Sherlock called after John in a panic. He couldn't believe that he had left him in such a predicament. "Damn it! I'm not cheating on her! She drugged me!" He waited a few seconds afterwards and collapsed with disdain. He peered up at his captor, who's grin had regained its chesire quality.

"Looks like you're all mine now." Irene leaned down and took hold of Sherlock's already sensitive nipple with her teeth and bit, causing him to yell out in pain. That time did not feel very pleasurable and he felt his erection falter a bit. Thank gods...He wondered what kind of conversation was being had out in the living area between his best friend and his wife. Well, perhaps soon to be ex-wife. He was ashamed at all of the pain he was causing her with none of it within his control.

As Irene was making to slide her hand underneath the covers the door burst open and both John and Detective Inspector Lestrade entered, firearms drawn and at the ready. Irene paused, curiousity painting her pretty face. "Hands up! On the back of your head." She complied, slowly, dropping the riding crop as she did so. Sherlock had never been so relieved in his life to be seen naked by his two closest male compatriots. He strained his head to get a good look at his rescue party, and gasped as Molly stood in the doorway, hand upon her belly and glaring at his captor.

"Molly-"

"Shut up, Sherlock." Molly sighed and shook her head as if disappointed. Sherlock closed his mouth, not wishing to make the situation worse. "Do I even need to ask?" She met his eyes and could sense the pain that radiated through them into Sherlock's deepest darkest part of his soul. Those eyes were piercing and sad.

"The needle is under John's chair in the living room. She kicked it out of the way after she drugged me." Sherlock rattled off. John backed out the door and went to search. He returned with an empty syringe in his hand. "She then had to have dragged me into the bedroom and tied me up and now is attempting to rape me." He begged Lestrade and John with his eyes. John nodded to him and he felt the relief at belief flood him.

"Climb slowly off the bed, Ms. Adler." Lestrade stated and motioned with the gun.

"I really don't think you'd want me to do that, Detective Inspector." Irene smiled wickedly.

Molly strutted forward suddenly before either man could react. "Here, allow me." Molly took hold of Irene's carefully done up hair and dragged her off the bed and into the floor with a scream. Lestrade rushed forward quickly to take control of the situation. He put away his gun and cuffed the half naked woman who lay on the floor in a state of shock from Molly's actions. Molly turned and noted the tent that Sherlock's unwarranted erection was creating and he looked away to avoid her painful gaze. She took hold of the riding crop and turned, swatting Irene squarely across the face with it. Irene cried out once more in surprise. She slapped her with the crop once more for good measure, enough to draw a bit of blood from Irene's cheek before Lestrade was able to restrain her and hold her back.

"I told you once to leave my husband and I alone and you didn't comply. You'll now be facing breaking and entering, assault and battery, rape, and stalking charges. Enjoy prison. I'm sure you'll get along just fine within." Molly glared at her and Irene let loose the tears as Lestrade and John helped her up off the floor, into a draped robe, and out of the apartment.

Molly stood, staring after her, holding the riding crop within her right hand, her knuckles white as she gripped it. Sherlock dared not say a word to her, knowing her condition was both severe and fragile at the same time. She looked at him and walked over to the bed. "Care to explain?"

"John berated me for being such a dick to you at the hospital, convincing me that I had taken what you were trying to tell me the wrong way. He left to go after you so you wouldn't be lonely and when I turned around Irene was in the flat. I tried to get her to leave but she wouldn't comply and she drugged me." Sherlock was trying his hardest to rid himself of the arousal he couldn't hide. "I woke up as I am and she was, well, I'm sure you can guess. It was not consensual on my part in any way, I assure you." He longed to be free from his ties, so as to take her into his arms and apologize properly to her, to love her and make her happy once again.

Molly was looking at the riding crop. Suddenly she swatted him with it upon his stomach and further down. Sherlock took the assault with wincing and grimacing, and tried to avoid being hit in too sensitive of an area that was a very obvious target. She took out her frustration upon him with the very riding crop he had used in their lab when they had first began to work together and it was bringing back many memories that both pained and overjoyed Molly. She was completely conflicted. She threw the riding crop across the room and stormed out, slamming the door behind her and leaving Sherlock in his condition once more to sulk.

Molly returned almost an hour later. Sherlock watched her as she entered the room. She was dressed in her gown and robe and rubbing her belly lovingly as she seemed to do often nowadays. "You ready to face the issues now?" Sherlock nodded, keeping quiet. She sat on the edge of the bed. "I only want you to realize that this is a terminal illness. There is always, ALWAYS, a possibility that I will not survive. I may not even wake up tomorrow!" She seemed to be in her acceptance stage of the process, which saddened Sherlock. He was going to have to come to grips with what was happening. "My point is, I want you to be prepared for me to go at anytime. It may happen, it may not. Either way you need to be as prepared as you can be so that you can care for Abigail." She met his gaze and held it sternly. "Do you understand?" Sherlock nodded yes.

Molly put her hand upon his stomach, as if to anchor herself to reality by merely touching him. It felt nice to have her hands on him once more. "Are you angry with me?" He asked softly.

"No. I don't believe you were cheating on me with Irene Adler. She won't be able to bother us anymore." Molly gave him a smile, tired smile.

"You're going to fight this to the end, aren't you?" Sherlock asked. Molly nodded. Sherlock mouthed the words "thank you" to her and relaxed a bit.

"Did I hurt you?" Molly asked as she traced her fingers over his nipple line and his stomach where she had assaulted him with the whip earlier. He grinned.

"No. Would you like to? I am in a very vulnerable position." Sherlock glanced at the zipties that held his hands to the bedposts. Molly cocked her head to the side questionably.

"Hmmm..." She hummed and pulled down the sheet that covered Sherlock's lower half. He was a bit surprised at the action, glancing down to see her admiring his anatomy. "I could just leave you here to think about how naughty you've been all night." Molly removed her robe and climbed onto the bed with some difficulty but not without grace. Sherlock watched her intently. She straddled his nakedness. "Or I could just take advantage of your vulnerable position. We seem to be fans of makeup sex." Molly grinned sheepishly at him. Sherlock raised his eyebrows.

"Um, well-" Sherlock couldn't seem to find the proper words to respond to his wife sitting upon him, working him up merely with touch. Molly placed her hands upon Sherlock's chest, wanting nothing more than to make love to her husband after all they had been through that evening. Sherlock wanted nothing more than to be free of his restraints so as to apologize to his wife properly.


	17. Chapter 17

Molly sat straddling Sherlock in his most compromising and quickly uncomfortably growing position ziptied to the headboard of their bed. He watched her with longing, praying that she didn't move from her position on top of him, but much rather that she take control and do with him as she pleased. She was looking down on him at the moment, an unreadable expression on her face. The door opened. John swung it and entered before halting. "Oh, um-" He stuttered, not expecting to see what he was seeing. The two looked at him curiously. "I didn't mean to intrude. Just making sure all was well." He was looking at Molly.

"Yes, we're fine." Molly smiled thankfully at him. He nodded and took a step to grab the doorknob once more, closing the door quickly behind him. Molly giggled. Sherlock relished the sound once more. There was nothing more precious and heartwarming than his lovely Molly laughing. She looked back down at him and sighed. "Oh, Sherlock. What am I to do with you?"

"Whatever you like." He answered quickly. "I'm yours, completely. I will never abandon you again. And I will surely never stray." His mind flashed to Irene Adler and his stomach flipped with distaste. He was eternally grateful that Molly had understood the situation they had all walked in on. Otherwise he would never have forgiven himself for causing her such emotional pain.

"Well..." Molly was most certainly going to take advantage of the situation. She only wondered how daring she should be. She couldn't be very daring considering her pregnant condition, but her body was filling her with thoughts of desire and Sherlock was indeed easy on the eyes. She situated herself upon him, letting him feel how incredibly close he was to being inside her, if only her panties were not in the way. She knew it was a tease, but that was the point. He grunted as she did so, and she felt the rise of him beneath her. "I could release you from your ties and allow you take advantage of me." Sherlock smiled, as he rather liked that idea. "Or I could just tease you and leave you tied up so as not to be able to relieve yourself." Sherlock's smile faltered. She laughed again.

Molly adjusted herself once more, and felt more reaction beneath her. She was filling up with such incredible lust for her husband, and toying with him was rather fun for a change. Molly had never been so daring as since their wedding night. She rather liked to mix things up and make him suffer a little. Sherlock cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Well, I-" She laid a finger on his lips and hushed him. He silenced himself. She reached down, sliding her hand in between the two of them, causing a delicious friction for them both as she did so. Sherlock writhed against her slightly, enjoying the feeling and growing harder at her touch. She sighed as well. It didn't take long for her body to ready itself and she moved her panties to the side and took hold of him, sliding him into her slowly. He moaned out her name, loving the feel of it on his lips as well as the tight warmth of her, his wife. He watched her as she began to move, slowly, carefully. She rested her hands upon his chest as she made love to him. He felt so wonderfully good inside of her, the love for him filling up her heart as she watched him. It would not take long, she could already feel herself nearing the cliff of her building orgasm and she quickened her pace a bit, rubbing against him as she did so, and tensing up around him as she came. Sherlock rocked his hips up as she thankfully continued to move a few seconds longer, and he emptied himself into her, relishing the release and the warmth it brought along with it throughout his entire body.

Molly steadied herself, feeling a bit lightheaded. Sherlock's smile faded. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing, really. I just exerted myself a bit, I'm okay. There's not pain, just a little dizzy." Molly reassured him and he relaxed. "You know, this thing is going to be a challenge. I've got at least three to more months before Abigail comes and I've got to beat this damned lesion to the punch line." She climbed slowly off of Sherlock, pulling out a pair of scissors from the bedside drawer and cutting him free of his restraints. He rubbed his wrists, rubbed red from the zipties and took her into his arms as she sat on the side of the bed. He held her close, kissing her forehead and stroking her hair. "Can I do this?" She questioned, more so to herself probably than to him.

"Of course you can. You've survived medication, chemotherapy, and brain surgery. And living with me." Sherlock laughed. She smiled. "You can beat this too. Abigail needs her mother around as long as you're able to be present." He felt a sharp pain within his heart as he said it, but he knew it would cement with her that he was listening and understood. "I've been such an ass, Molly. Please forgive me." He held her tightly against him.

"You're forgiven, love." Molly ran her fingers up through those soft curls she loved so much and pulled him to her to kiss. His hand wandered down to her belly and rested there lovingly for a moment longer. Then it traveled up a little higher to her engorged breasts. She sucked in a breath. "Oh!" She smiled, rather surprised. "Feeling very passionate about things tonight I take it." She giggled. He kissed her harder just for that.

"I love you, Molly Holmes. More than words could ever say." Sherlock whispered in her ear as his hand left her breast and traveled down to her panties, pushing them aside once more and rubbing her softly. She met his lips, drinking him in as he caressed her. He removed his hand only long enough to pull her silk gown up over her head, and her panties down and off of her feet. She was naked and self conscious in front of him as she sat on the bed. "You are the most beautiful thing I've ever laid eyes upon." He spoke softly to her as he returned his hand to that place she longed for it to be most at that moment. He rose and turned her upon her back, positioning himself at the end of the bed between her legs. "Are you comfortable?" He asked, always caring about her in her pregnant state.

"Yes..." She breathed and he entered her slowly and gently. She moaned as he did so, as the angle was deliciously on point. He caressed her legs as he moved within her, his breath becoming ragged. She could tell it was hard for him not to speed his progress and take her quickly and roughly, but he was ever soft and caring with her since the pregnancy had become apparently. She was quickly losing her mental capacity to function as the heat was building once more within her. He rested her legs against him and moved his hand once more to focus on her, stimulating her and causing her to moan his name as he did so. "Oh! Gods...I-" She came before she could even think of an ending to her sentence and he along with her, meeting her eyes as he did so. They were lost in that moment of bliss, as close as physically possible and falling in the deep depths of love once more. He waited until she nodded before pulling out of her and laying with her on the bed, enveloping her within his arms and holding her close, a hand on her ever growing baby bump as he stroked her hair.

"You'll make a good man out of me yet, Molly Holmes." He whispered as she drifted off to sleep, naked and bathing in the warmth of their love.


	18. Chapter 18

Molly sat at the desk staring through her microscope. Sherlock came up from behind, setting her tea in front of her. She glanced up with a smile and thanked him as she wrote down her findings on the notebook beside her. She took hold of her tea as she finished her scribblings and sipped it as Sherlock sat across the desk and dove into his own research. Currently it included the dead severed hand that resting in a biohazard bag within their fridge. Molly had gagged at the idea at first, but after realizing it was not the first time that Sherlock had had a dead body part within the fridge at 221B Baker Street she warmed up to the idea. She just refused to entered the kitchen unless necessary.

Currently John was out at the office. He'd kept his part time job as doctor at a local clinic to help with his part of the bills so as not to come off as a freeloader. It supplemented their consulting detective income nicely and every little bit would help with the baby. Molly enjoyed her and Sherlock's quiet days at home alone from time to time, but having John present was always welcome, as he often balanced out their duet perfectly.

Molly was currently eight months pregnant. Her belly had taken over her skinny frame, and her appetite was voracious. She had passed the point of feeling 'fat' and had developed to the point of near misery at times due to the extra weight of the baby as well as the back, rib, foot, and bladder pain the baby had brought along with her growing within her womb. Currently she sat in her sweats and a comfy t-shirt, one hand ever present upon her belly, feeling Abigail stretch and reposition herself. She had dropped lower in her belly not long ago, and was now playing kickball with Molly's bladder. Molly repositioned herself to try and make herself more comfortable. Sherlock glanced up from time to time to make sure she was alright, and things seemed fine. "Have you been able to discern what it was that was in that soil sample?" Sherlock asked as he looked into the microscope.

"Brick dust and a bit of some cleaning chemical. I'm working on it now." Molly answered as she grabbed hold of a reference book and began to flip through it.

"Be sure you separate the two. That's the only bloody sample I was able to get before Anderson stepped in." Sherlock sighed in exasperation. Sherlock always seemed to revert to his usual egotistical and somewhat demanding self when they were deep within a case or doing work at home. Molly had grown to ignore the edge in his voice when he spoke to her, as she realized it was just part of his personality. He was never outright rude towards her as he used to be, as he'd been able to filter that.

Molly's headaches had returned, although not with the particular vengeance they had come at her with before she realized that she had the lesions. The upped medications seemed to be helping keep the pain at bay as well as the growth of the lesion. The last scan Molly had had showed the lesion had grown to a fourth more of its size, instead of doubling as it might have down without the extra medication. It was growing, but not at the rate it could be, and this made Molly keep the faith that she would deliver healthily before the lesion could do any more real damage. The after effects of birth combined with chemo were going to really be harsh, and Molly feared that point in her life. It was yet to come, so there wasn't any point in worrying now.

Molly felt a tightening over her stomach and she stopped for a moment. That was different. Molly had felt Braxton-Hicks contractions before, and she figured this must be one. Either that or Abigail is stretching a bit further than she normally does. The tightening stopped after a few seconds, and Molly disregarded it with no alarm. Her head was beginning to throb a bit. She stood slowly, as it was somewhat hard manuevering with her pregnant belly in the way. "Everything okay?" Sherlock asked, still buried within his work.

"Yes, I'm just getting a bit of a headache. Going to go take my medicine for it." Molly smiled at him and started off on swollen, sore feet for the bathroom.

"Okay. Then hurry up. We've got little time to figure out exactly where the perpetrator's been before he kills another poor little old lady in a flat by herself." Sherlock sighed as he switched out the slides. Molly rolled her eyes and mimed him sarcastically as she entered the bathroom and closed the door. She rubbed her temple, the headache had intensified a bit. Blood pressure must be up. She opened the medicine cabinet and popped one of her pills and swallowed it down with a sip of water. She leaned against the sink as the tightening began across her belly once more. Is she reacting to the headache? Molly didn't know what to think of it.

Suddenly, Molly felt a rush of warm water between her legs. She froze in a panic and glanced down at her soaked sweats and the puddle beneath her on the floor. Oh no...The tightening across her belly intensified and she began to feel a slight pain in her lower belly that felt a lot like period cramps. Am I going into labor?! She waited until the pain subsided and took a few deep breaths to calm her nerves. She pulled off the sweats and tried her best to mop up the mess in the floor, embarrassed by its happening to begin with. She cleaned up, which was hard as she seemed to still be leaking her water, and waddled into the bedroom to fish out a fresh pair of sweats. She leaned against the dresser with a groan as another tightening cramp hit her for a few seconds and dissipated. This is really happening. She started out into the hallway. "Sherlock?" She called. She noted him still sitting at the desk deep in concentration. "Sherlock!"

His shoulders visibly slumped and he glanced up a bit put off by being interrupted. "What?"

"My water just broke."

"What?" Sherlock gave her a quizzical look. "What does that mean?"

"I'm in labor!" Molly shouted at him, more out of fear for her condition at the moment than anger. His eyebrows shot up in surprise and he stood up so abruptly that the chair fell over backwards and hit the floor with a thump loud enough to startle them both. "We need to grab everything and get a cab..." Molly was starting to run through her checklist in her head. She turned to grab the bag they had packed that sat in the corner of the bedroom and when another wave of contractions hit her she grimaced and moaned. Sherlock seemed frozen in time, not knowing exactly what to do, which was a first for him. No amount of planning and education could have prepared him for this moment.

"I've got to call..." He turned, feeling himself for his phone and pulled it out, nearly dropping it. "John, I've got to call John..." He dialed the number with shaky fingers. "John? She's in labor. Okay. Yes. Meet us there? Brilliant." He hung up the phone, seemingly regaining his composure somewhat and hurried past her into the bedroom to grab the bag. He went to the top of the stairs and tossed the bag down the stairs with a bang.

"Sherlock!" Molly called out, hoping she hadn't packed anything fragile within said bag, and then leaned against the wall in pain. Sherlock came to her and began to help her towards the stairs. Mrs. Hudson came to the foot of the stairs and looked up worriedly at the couple as they began to descend slowly.

"John just rang. I've called you a cab, dear." Mrs. Hudson reached up as she came close to Molly and together they helped her out into the waiting cab in the London rain. Sherlock threw the bag into the trunk and climbed in beside her, barking directions at the cabbie and looking towards Molly in despair and confusion as she yelled out once more in increasing pain. Her head and her belly together were causing her much misery. She took hold of Sherlock's hand as they rode towards St. Bartholomew's.

Sherlock paced outside of the obstetrics wing as John arrived and hurried towards him. "Everything okay?" John asked, out of breath. He'd nearly sprinted the entire way through the hospital as soon as he'd arrived. Sherlock looked worried and desheveled.

"They're preparing her. IV, meds, the like. Her neurologist is present as well, as she was complaining of a massive headache when we arrived." Sherlock stated, hands behind him as he paced. He hadn't even bothered to remove the coat and scarf. John stopped him and helped him out of it.

"Okay, that's good. They're on top of things. Just breath, okay?" John steadied him with a hand on his shoulder and chest and Sherlock seemed to comply. "They'll let you back in whenever they are ready. Did they say how close she was?"

"She's at a 7, 80% effaced." Sherlock repeated what the doctor had told him right before he had shuffled Sherlock out the doors. The last view Sherlock had of his wife was one of worry and longing for him not to leave her. She had been frightened and they hadn't allowed him to stay.

At that moment, the nurse opened the door. "Mr. Holmes?" She motioned to him to hurry and handed him a gown, hat, and shoe covers. "She's ready to start pushing. You'll need to put these on. Then come with me." The nurse waited as Sherlock clumsily applied his gear that he'd been given and John helped him with the tying of the gown in the back. He turned Sherlock towards him and took hold of his face in his hands.

"It's going to be okay, Sherlock." John reassured him as he stared into Sherlock's grey blue eyes. "She may yell out, she's going to be hurting some, but it's normal, so don't hurt anyone in there. Just stay with her, support her, and things will be okay." John patted him and Sherlock abruptly turned and headed to follow the nurse into Molly's delivery room.

As he entered he noted they already had her up in the stirrups and she was trying her best to breath as she had been taught to calm herself as she layed back in the bed. The nurses and doctors were bumbling around busily, preparing for the arrival of the baby. Sherlock hurried up to her bedside and took her hand. She glanced at him, her face sweaty, her hair plastered to the sides of her face as she tried to calm herself and take the pain. "It hurts." She groaned as another contraction pushed its way through her belly and her body.

"Haven't they given you anything for pain?" Sherlock asked, feeling guilty in the moment that Molly was hurting. He didn't want to see her hurt, as she'd already been through enough, even if childbirth were a naturally painful thing.

"They can't give me much more than they have to take the edge off because of my medication." Molly grimaced and clutched his hand to her chest tightly, so tight in fact that her knuckles were turning white. He waited for the contraction to pass and she relaxed some. "It's almost time." She sighed. The doctor came around and instructed Sherlock on how to take hold of Molly's leg as the nurse was doing on the opposite side. She took a few more deep breaths, and at the command of push, Molly did so. She pushed hard, for many rests and breaths and then again and again. Sherlock kept his eyes on her. The entire scene seemed to slow, as if the world was stuck in slow motion around him. He watched her strain and pushed and struggle through her labor and in those moments he watched her and felt an enormous amount of respect and love for Molly. Molly Hooper, whom he'd never taken the time to notice until their current predicament had opened his eyes to her. He was forever changed by being with her, and he was somewhat thankful. Molly had humanized him somewhat, and brought him out of the shell he had created around himself to protect himself from the world and its emotional injuries.

The doctor yelled out for Molly to stop and take a breath. Sherlock's jaw dropped to the floor as they both unanimously heard the cry of a little one down below. The doctor rose from his seat and held up little Abigail as she squirmed and howled at being introduced to the world. "Is she okay? Please tell me she's okay..." Molly breathed rapidly.

"She's healthy and beautiful." The doctor nodded and smiled at her. Molly fell back upon the bed and breathed a sigh of relief. Her head ached something awful but her baby was safe and healthy. Sherlock leaned down, laying a loving kiss upon her forehead and reassuring her of the wonderful job she had done to produce such a beautiful baby girl. The nurse came round to Sherlock's side and motioned for him to come and cut the umbilical cord. Sherlock followed her as if in a dream. He was handed the scissors and performed the duty as all father's did. The baby was then wrapped up in a blanket and handed up onto Molly's chest to be coddled and loved.

It was then and only then that Molly burst into tears as she gazed down on the pretty little squirmy girl that lay in her arms. Sherlock joined her and touched her forehead lightly, as if she were so fragile she might break at the slightest touch. "Hello, my Abigail." She sobbed as she kissed her and loved her for the few moments she was allowed. The nurse soon took her over to be cleaned and weighed. Sherlock was offered to join her and Molly nodded for him to join Abigail as she remained for the remainder of her delivery.

Sherlock was lost within the world of him and his baby girl. He had never thought he would ever have been a father. He watched the nurse take care of the child as he watched, pulling out his phone at one point to snap a picture or two to show John and Mycroft, but he did so in a daze, still in shock and surprise that he was indeed a father. So much so that he didn't hear when things had started to go a little off behind him. A nurse approached him and attempted to shepard him out of the room once more. "What? What's wrong?" He asked vehemently as he glanced over at Molly. She was passed out upon the bed and extremely pale. The neurologist and the delivery doctor were both working upon her feverishly.

"She's having some difficulties, but the doctors are tending to her. You need to wait outside. You can't be in here." The nurse was trying to be firm and yet soft about the predicament at the same time. Sherlock fought them, wanting to be beside his Molly. Especially if things went more sour than they seemed to be at the moment. It took two more nurses from the ward as well as a security officer to bring him out of the room.

John rushed up to him as he was escorted into the hallway. He noted the distressed paleness of Sherlock's face and took hold of his shoulders. "What, Sherlock?"

"There's something wrong. They said there's something wrong. She's so pale, John..." Sherlock could no longer hold it within him. He let the tears fall, as if he didn't even realize they were present. John watched Sherlock as he shattered into a million pieces in front of him. "They wouldn't let me stay."

John knew what to do, how to calm his friend. Sherlock hadn't had to deal with such a situation before, and his heart was fragile in this instance. "And the baby?"

"Abigail is fine..." Sherlock sounded far away, as his eyes indicated. John hugged his friend and compatriot to him tightly, wanting to comfort and not knowing how. Sherlock did nothing to stop him or embrace him, merely stood and cried his silent tears as he stared into nothingness.


	19. Chapter 19

Sherlock slumped in the waiting room chair at St. Bartholomew's. He dozed lightly with feverish dreams with his arms crossed and mumbling incoherent things here and there. John sat across from him and watched, leaning forward with elbows on his knees. He worried for his friend. He wondered if his sanity would break before this night was over with.

Molly had suffered a bit of an aneurysm near the lesion in her brain as a result of the pressure put upon her while she labored. It had caused a slow bleed within her brain that had caused her to become unconscious after delivering. Molly's neurologist had caught the symptoms in time enough to whisk her into a stat CT scan as well as surgery where she currently was. They were on hour four waiting for word. Sherlock had become nearly catatonic as he waited for the first few hours, then he'd gradually exhausted himself. John worried. He refused to go and check on Abigail, although the nurses assured John that the baby was healthy and fine and taken care of in its parents' absence. He should be holding that child, loving her, getting used to her. Not sitting here worried that Molly may not make it through. Molly was right to worry when she chided Sherlock about this very situation. John yawned, feeling the strain of stress and exhaustion as well, but fighting it.

The doors opened. John stood. He glanced over at Sherlock, not wanting to wake him until he was sure what was going on. He met the nurse. "She's going to recovery. They managed to locate and stop the bleed and also removed the lesion. They aren't sure if she'll be able to wake up right away or not, we will have to watch her. Give them about an hour and she will be taken to ICU where you can visit her." The nurse nodded and John thanked her. He ran a hand through his hair, glancing at Sherlock, going over how he was going to inform him friend of Molly's condition.

It was nearly three days since Molly had given birth to bouncing baby Abigail, who was starting to gain a few ounces and was a voracious eater like her mother. She had brilliant blue eyes (probably from her father) and a good amount of silky blondish hair upon her head that cowlicked and curled here and there. She wasn't much of a crier or complainer. She was an absolute dear to hold all the nurses said. John had taken his turn feeding her in the nursery, and his heart ached as he watched Sherlock circle near the window to view his daughter, and then fade away into the background. Not once had he taken to holding her, as panic gripped his heart with icy claws whenever he thought about being the first to hold her and love her before her own mother had the chance.

Molly was still comatose, although she didn't have to be on a ventilator or anything. She was perfectly fine, able to breath on her own. The only problem was she was like a sleeping beauty who had yet to waken, and she had remained so since Abigail's welcoming. John observed the many long hours Sherlock spent at her bedside, holding her hand, stroking her hair, talking to her of anything and everything there was to talk about. John had even noted Sherlock reading from a laboratory reference book once, perhaps out of boredom, probably more out of respect of what his wife loved to do. John supposed Molly appreciated it if nothing else. Other times he would note Sherlock asleep across her bedside, and more than once he became very defensive towards the staff when they came in to move her or bathe her. Often Sherlock had taken it upon himself to wash her, to cherish that time he had with her. John noted this as tragically romantic, but he could only hope for the best. They had after all been able to remove the only lesion they had noted within her brain, it was just a matter of getting her back to the land of the living. Then she could start the chemotherapy once more.

On this particular day, Sherlock was sitting beside Molly's bed, flipping through the papers that John had collected and brought for him. John sat across from him watching him over the top of his own paper. He had heard the footsteps approaching the room long before Sherlock seemed to. The nurse entered, pushing Abigail's bed in with her has she did. Sherlock glanced up and automatically he paled and swallowed hard. John stood, thanking the nurse and taking Abigail out of her crib and holding her close, speaking to her softly as she wiggled about in his arms. Sherlock watched, his heart going out to his little girl whom he felt unable to care for or even hold. "It's time, Sherlock."

"Time for what?" Sherlock sighed and flipped open the paper to avoid the conversation.

"Time for you to hold her. You haven't touched her once since she was born. It's time to end this." John approached him with the baby within his arms. Sherlock shook his head negatively and tried his best to ignore John. John held the baby within one arm and swatted the paper from Sherlock's grasp with the other. Sherlock stared at him, angered, bewildered, and frightened. "This is your daughter for gods sakes, Sherlock. Molly needs you to be a father to her while she's unable to parent. You know this. You're a genius, damn it. Figure it out." John yanked Sherlock up into a standing position with one hand firmly upon his arm. Sherlock stood, more of a knee jerk reflex than anything else.

"John," Sherlock started, his breathing becoming rapid as his heart raced and the adrenaline pumped through his body. "I can't. She hasn't had the opportunity to even love Abigail. It isn't fair." Sherlock stuttered the words out with surprising honesty.

"I understand that, but you've got to build a bond with her, Sherlock. She hasn't had any contact with her parents for three days. That's three days too long." John held Sherlock's terrified gaze a moment longer and handed Abigail over, placing her firmly and carefully within her father's arms. Sherlock stood, frozen, unable to react, not knowing what to do. He instinctively drew her closer into him and stared down at her. She looked just like her mother, with Sherlock's eyes and curls. He sat slowly on the edge of Molly's bed and simply held her. John watched cautiously, knowing that Sherlock wouldn't endanger the baby, but the look upon his face was hard to read.

Sherlock gazed at his baby girl, the daughter he never imagined he would have ever had. She wiggled and squirmed, cooing and stretching within his arms and his heart was instantly bonded to her. He could think of nothing more important or dear to him in the world at the very instance. He drew her close, rocking her slowly, shushing her as she made her little infant noises and loving her. John felt a tear coming, so he turned and left the room, allowing Sherlock to have a moment with his new family.

Sherlock had become so wrapped up in taking Abigail's full attention that he failed to notice Molly's hand twitching beside him on the bed. "You're so infathomably beautiful, little Abigail." he spoke to her in a soft deep voice that Abigail obviously recognized as she made a few noises that almost sounded like a response. "You're half of me. I love you fiercely." He felt his own sentiment and emotion catching up with him but he refused to hide it. There was no one present to hide it from, and there was no reason bottling it up any further. He wept, gently and with a small smile upon his face as he rocked and coddled his newborn.

Molly's hand twitched once more, brushing his leg. He stopped, noting the disturbance and glanced down to watch her fingers flex. His eyes widened and he pressed the call button on the side of the bed. "Molly?" He asked. Molly moaned softly in response. "Oh gods, please." Sherlock caught his breath, and pressed the button many more times in an attempt to hurry along whatever help would be checking up on them. A nurse entered. "She's moving." He pointed to her hand as he continued to flex and twitch and the nurse immediately left to go and fetch the doctor. Sherlock leaned close. "Molly, love, wake up. Abigail is here, she's here and she's missing you. I can't do it by myself, Molly. Wake up please!" He continued to let the tears fall as the doctor entered.

The doctor began his checks, pen light in the eyes, squeezing the hands. Molly's eyes fluttered a few times here and there and she moaned once more at the mention of her name and Sherlock stood back, allowing the staff to do their work. John had joined him once more and stood with arms behind his back, glancing back and forth between Molly's possible awakening and Sherlock loving his child. It was strange and wonderous to watch, Sherlock. He had a natural presence with the child, that was unlike any kind of emotional caring he'd seen before Molly made herself known to him in the way that had sparked this entire journey. John couldn't help but grin, knowing that Sherlock was growing and changing in ways he never thought he'd ever see. He liked this side of Sherlock, as his egotistically blunt side had not disappeared, just taken on a different facet.

The doctor walked over to Sherlock and patted him on the shoulder. "She's awake. She's still very tired and very groggy so give her a while to completely bring herself about, but she is well on her way to recovery." The doctor explained before giving Sherlock a smile and leaving out through the door. Sherlock neared the bed, noticing that Molly's brown eyes were once more open and searching the ceiling and the faces of the staff that surrounded her bed.

"Molly," Sherlock started, a huge smile upon his face. The nurse moved to allow him to sit beside her on the edge of the bed again. Molly answered with a smile in her eyes and a slight smile upon her thin lips. "Abigail is doing wonderfully, she's impatient to be held though." Sherlock rocked the baby and Molly tried to mouth something but instantly felt too tired to attempt much else. "Just rest, love. We're fine, we just need you back. Take your time. Everything is going to be fine." Sherlock actually believed himself in these words and Molly nodded her head as if she understood. Her eyes closed once more and Sherlock imagined she was tired and needed her sleep. The pain medicine the nurse had given her also was having an effect on her.

Sherlock turned to John, who was waiting at the edge of the room, allowing them to interact as they should. "She's awake, John. There's hope yet." Sherlock nodded as he smiled down at Abigail, who cooed back a response. Molly was right. There is always a silver lining.


	20. Chapter 20

Molly awoke from a strange dream. A dream in which she could not speak or do for herself. A dream in which she had no control over her body. It was more of a nightmare than that of a normal dream, and it frightened her. Mostly because it was more of a reality than ever before.

Molly opened her eyes from her pain medicine induced nap to note with blurry eyes that Sherlock was pacing about the room. She wondered if something was wrong, if the doctor had told him something bad, or if a case was bothering him. She was relieved to note when he turned to face her direction that he was holding baby Abigail and feeding her with a tipped bottled of formula and speaking to her in length about the speed of decomposition of the average human corpse after exposure to the elements. This didn't phase her in the least, as she knew Abigail would probably learn of such things growing up with him anyway, and that was just the way of things.

John sat at her bedside as Sherlock did his parenting and was looking over her chart. He noted her blinking her eyes and struggling to turn her head to the side to take him fully into her view. He leaned forward towards her and asked "How are you feeling?" She nodded. She had noticed that post emergency brain surgery she couldn't speak. The words were within her brain and perfectly capable of being formed and spoken, but her body was betraying her and would not cooperate. "Good to hear. No pain?" Molly shook her head no. "Brilliant. Your physical therapist should be here shortly. I know you're tired, but the quicker we get you working and up out of this bed, the sooner you can hold little miss Abigail." Molly agreed wholeheartedly with John, but the mention of her being unable to perform her motherly duties at this time ate at her. And she had no way to express it. Well, she had one way, but she was NOT going to cry again in front of either of these men.

Sherlock wandered over to her bedside and sat with their daughter as she finished her bottle. "See? Mummy's awake. She's been longing to hold you, but we have to get her strong once more before we can do that." Sherlock smiled with his eyes and that megawatt smile that melted Molly to the core each and everytime he gave it to her. The bottle was empty and he proceeded to burp the little girl over his shoulder without any worry of spit up upon his rather expensive dress shirt. He bundled her up and laid her in the crook of Molly's arm, so she could coddle the child close to her without having to worry about the use of her hands. Sherlock leaned in close and kissed her sweetly upon the forehead. "Now daddy needs to arrange mummy's needs with the nurse. I'll return soon, love." He spoke and rose, exiting the room.

Molly glanced down at her child, watching Abigail kick and wiggle with a smile upon her face. Her eyes were the brightest blue. I know they'll change, but I hope they retain some of that beautiful color like her father has within his eyes. Molly studied her every feature intensely, memorizing her baby's face and movements. Loving her without being able to properly care for her. Her heart fractured a bit at the thought and she fought back the tears. No need to upset her. She feared she would if she let the show of emotion through. John watched the two with a smile on his face.

Sherlock returned to the room with a cup of hot coffee for John as well as a fresh bottle of formula and Abigail's crib from the nursery. "Up little one!" Sherlock stated and picked the baby back up into his arms, checking her, tidying her blanket up before placing her in the crib. He made to leave, but John caught him.

"You can leave her with me if you like. I don't mind playing uncle." John smiled and Sherlock nodded his thanks. He disappeared into the adjoining bath/shower room and water could be heard. After some time he reappeared, coming around to Molly's side of the bed and leaning down. He slid his hands under her legs and her back. Molly instinctively put her arms about his neck, which took some effort but was managed.

"Good girl." He smiled lovingly at her and picked her up as if she weighed nothing. He carried her into the bath/shower room and placed her in a sitting position, something they had also worked very hard on. Molly was able to sit up on her own and support herself without falling over. He closed the door and began to gently undress her. Molly watched his every movement, wanting to speak to him, to tell him how proud she was of him and how good he was with their daughter. She opened her mouth and her tongue moved but the words failed. "Oh if only you could, love. We are getting there. I promise you'll be there soon." Sherlock stood, removing his own clothing as well. Molly wrinkled her brow in confusion. Sherlock had bathed her many times, but never together in the hospital. That had been an at home practice.

"I'm in the mood to feel as close to you as I possibly can." Sherlock explained as he removed his underwear and stood in front of her statuesque and lithe. Molly smiled. Sherlock returned it. He tested the water and lifted her up, placing her within the bath and climbing in behind her. She leaned back against him, loving the warm, velvety smoothness of his wet skin on her as she did so. He took hold of the washcloth and began to wash her as he always did when they had taken previous baths together. She closed her eyes and enjoyed the sensation. The joy of being loved and taken care of by her husband, her one and only Sherlock Holmes.

Molly had suffered a larger setback from this surgery than the prior one. She had all of her mental capacity, but the lesion had been in such a place that it had effected speech and some motor control components of her mind. This called for a longer recovery and refractory period, but it did not rule out complete recovery. Sherlock refused to believe that she would never fully recover, and so he encouraged her as best he could everyday. Molly wished desperately that she could thank him for all that he was doing, and all he'd done. He had turned out to be an extremely loving, tender, and attentive husband. No one could have asked for better.

Sherlock's hands wandered lower, rubbing across her lower parts and awakening a stir of warmth within her. "You are the strongest and most amazingly stout woman I've ever met, Molly. I believe this is part of what has drawn me to you after learning of your diagnosis." Sherlock sighed. "You've survived this long with a terminal illness, the birth of our daughter, two brain surgeries, and a round of chemotherapy. It amazes me that you continue to push through despite everything this life has thrown at you." He continued to brush her in all the right places below, causing her nipples to stand at attention as he brushed his other hand upon her right breast as he did so. She could feel his erection pressing up into her backside in response.

"I only wish to make you comfortable, to make you feel loved, and wanted, and attractive," Sherlock moaned. "You are incredibly intelligent, stunningly beautiful, and the mother of my daughter, whom I would have never in a million years would have thought I'd have conceived. You've give the world to me, Molly, and I shall never be able to repay you." He began to circle about her in an increasingly teasing motion, rubbing her into a moan and a sigh and applying soft kisses to the crook of her neck and her shoulder as he did so. He brought her to climax so unexpectedly she cried out and instantly flushed a deeper red with embarrassment for fear John may have heard her. Sherlock smiled, his erection still irrepressibly present. "I want only to make you feel this way for the rest of our lives together." Sherlock sat her up, noting that the water was beginning to tepid, and pulled the plug, climbing out and helping her lay back so he could grab the towel to dry her with.

Molly watched him, the tears welling. She felt amazingly wonderful in the afterglow of her orgasm, and the basking in the beautiful words of her husband, but she wished that she could do for herself, when she didn't know if she'd ever regain full use of everything or anything once more. She wanted to shout her love to him, to climb out of that gods forsaken bathtub by herself and wrap her wet arms about his neck and kiss him in return for his love and kindness.

Sherlock didn't bother to clothe himself and so he knelt beside her with the towel in hand and started with her legs. He worked up to her feet and then to her waist. Her hand gripped his wrist strongly, so hard it nearly hurt. He looked into her eyes surprised, although pleasantly. "I-" Molly started. "Love...you-" She managed to get out before her throat gave way once more. Sherlock sucked in a breath and grabbed her to him, hugging her tightly.

"See, my perfect girl?" Sherlock sniffed. Molly sensed he'd allowed tears to fall first this time. "I love you too. Gods, I do." He refused to release his wife, and she managed a sideways smile at the thought. I can beat this. I will do this. If I could do that, I can recover. And I WILL hold my Abigail.


	21. Chapter 21

Molly couldn't hide her excitement. She was finally getting ready to go back home to 221B Baker Street after a few long weeks in St. Bartholomew's hospital. She currently sat on the side of the hospital bed in a t-shirt and sweats, waiting on John and Sherlock to finish packing their things into the cab waiting down below on the street. There was a knock at the door and the nurse entered with baby Abigail swaddled and waiting in her crib. Molly's eyes lit up to see her baby girl. She smiled as the nurse brought her close and handed her the bottle of formula she had already prepared. Molly took it, taking her time as her actions were slow and precise, but doable.

She reached into the crib and lifted Abigail out carefully, noting that her hands, although functioning more normally thanks to all of the therapy she had worked so hard at could fail at anytime and she was terrified that she might falter and accidently drop the infant. Molly laid Abigal across her lap and supported her tiny head, placing the bottle in front of her and allowing her to attached to it and begin feeding hungrily. Molly smiled at her as she did so, indescribably happy to be able to hold and care for her baby girl.

Another knock at the door as Sherlock and John entered. "All set. Are you ready?" John asked with a grin as he came over to observe Molly feeding her baby.

"Yes." Molly answered as Abigail finished her bottle. She set it over to the side and picked her up to burp her across her shoulder. Sherlock came over and sat on the bed next to them both and placed his hand loving on Molly's back as baby Abigail burped. Molly giggled at the sound. Sherlock reveled in the giggle. It always excited his heart to hear Molly laugh. Molly slowly handed their baby to Sherlock, who took her instantly and cuddled her up against his chest lovingly as he stood.

Molly took her time and stood slowly, before heading towards the door. Sherlock walked alongside her and John followed behind in case she needed some sort of support or help. As they exited the room, the nurse brought forth a wheelchair. Molly shook her head adamantly. "I can do this." She smiled and thanked the kind nurse before continuing her slow way through the OB ward and out to the cab.

Sherlock assisted her into the cab and placed Abigail securely in her holder. He gazed into Molly's eyes once more before he kissed her. "See you back home, love." He stated and closed the door, watching as the cab drove away. John came up behind him as Sherlock sighed.

"Ready for this? Going to be much different having Abigail at home." John asked. Sherlock nodded. He knew that things were definitely going to change in 221B Baker Street, but not necessarily for the worse.

Molly heard it instinctively. She woke in the dark, turning on her side. Abigail was crying, perhaps hungry. Molly groaned, knowing that she would be losing a lot of sleep thanks to their new addition. She glanced at the clock. 2:34 a.m. glared back at her. Abigail cried out again from her crib over in the corner of their bedroom. She slowly started to sit up in the bed when a dark figure entered the room. She was momentarily startled, as she hadn't even noticed her husband was not present.

"Hush now." Sherlock's deep voice could be heard and Abigail quieted a bit at the sound of it. His shadow reached into the crib and lifted her out of it and into his strong arms. He had been preparing a bottle for her and was now feeding her as he paced about the room, rocking her a bit as she fed, whispering things to her. Molly sat up and observed Sherlock as he cared for their baby girl.

Minutes later Abigail was dozing quietly within her father's arms. He placed her gently back in her crib and came back to bed. Molly had dozed off once more as well, but as the bed dipped and his warmth enveloped her she awoke once more. He nuzzled into her and wrapped his arms about her. "I could have gotten her this time." Molly whispered to him. He said nothing at first, startled that she was awake.

"I know." He whispered back into her ear and sent a fresh tingle up her spine at the resonance it created within her. "I want you to be able to rest, love. You've got to start chemo once more tomorrow and I don't want you to be overtired. It's going to take a lot out of you."

Molly's spirits dampened a bit. She knew that she had to start chemo in the morning, but she hadn't wanted to be reminded. Sherlock had requested that perhaps with the right amount of money and John's overseeing she could perhaps have the chemo done at home. John had not balked at the idea, but had stated that it would be a much better idea for her to be in the hospital so in case something happened she would have an immediate team of people there to assist. He was only one man, and he couldn't do everyone's job. Molly thought it just as well, as she did not want Sherlock to see her hooked up to some machine, throwing up, burning up, fatigued. "I know, and I'm thankful." She kissed him in the dark and held his chiseled cheekbones in her hands as she did so. How could she have gotten so lucky? It didn't seem possible. She let her mind wander as Sherlock's breathing slowed to the rhythm of sleep and drifted off along side him as the family slept in peace for at least one more night.

Molly was feeling absolutely horrid. She leaned back in the chair, hoping for the dizziness to fade, but it didn't. The room continued to spin without her being able to stop it. It was making her nauseated and it was one of the worst feelings in the world. The nurse returned to her with medication to cease the retching and placed it into her other IVed arm, the one that did not hold potentially poisonous chemicals that were being pumped into her body to destroy the cancer and keep it at bay. She felt turned inside out. This bout of chemo was very aggressive, more so than her last go around. She wondered what she had agreed to. Of course, she did have an extremely loving husband as well as a new infant daughter at home to care for, to live for. This was why she was suffering now.

John had entered the chemo wing and spotted Molly. He joined her, concern painting his face. "Not such a good day, is it?" He asked her. She shook her head slightly to mean no, and went straight to retching up the little contents in her stomach. He simply watched her, waiting for her to gain some composure. "I've got a surprise for you."

Molly glanced up and wiped her mouth with the washcloth. The nurse appeared again, handing her a cold washcloth for her forehead and she applied it graciously. "What's that?" She asked.

"Sherlock is here. He's brought Abby, but no worries, I'm going to watch her while he comes and keeps you a bit of company." Molly's face paled more so than its porcelain color it already obtained and she broke out in a cold sweat.

"No, John. You can't. He can't-" Molly teared up. This was the last thing she had ever wanted. She wanted to beat this on her own, not show her weakness to her husband. She felt it would bring him down to see her weakened and in such a state.

"He needs to. You need him. He is there to support you. We avoided this last time and look what happened?" John stated firmly. He turned to head back out of the wing, possibly to summon Sherlock. "It will be good. We both know how strong you are, Molly. This will make you no less." John gave her a smile before he left.

Sherlock rounded the corner and spotted Molly instantly. She was currently bent over a pink plastic bucket retching. She was placid, pale, and glistening with sweat from exertions of vomiting. She had an IV nestled deep in each arm, one pumping away the chemotherapy, the other keeping her hydrated and medicated to help with the side effects. He came closer to her and noticed the sobs that accompanied the silence and calm between heaves. Sherlock's heart broke. He knew that the chemotherapy would do things to her, as he had noted the day they had found out she was pregnant, but to see her in this state was heartwrenching. He could only imagine what was going through her head as her physical body endured this savagery.

Molly felt the presence of him before she saw him. She dared not look up, but continued to stare at the pepto bismol colored pink of the basin and the lack of anything solid within it. A hand, cool and soft appeared upon her back, as Sherlock always seemed to do when comforting her. Molly couldn't help it, she let the tears stream down her face and into the basin, hoping that her damp stringy hair would conceal them. "Molly," Sherlock cooed. She didn't react, tried to ignore him, embarrassment taking over. "I never knew...until I see. I'm here for you, if you want me to be." Sherlock stated as he rubbed small circles on her back. "I'll help with Abigail, I'll help with whatever it is you need from me."

Molly sat up and met his eyes. His confidence faltered a bit when he saw the desperation, the sickness, and the anger within them. He wondered if it was directed at him. He was told by John that this would be the best thing to do, to push their boundaries as a couple and connect when she needed him the most. At the moment, he was thinking it was quite the opposite. "I didn't ask you to be here. I didn't want you to see me like this, but you and John continue to pry. I wish you'd just leave me be! Stop trying to coddle me, save it for Abigail. I'm going to beat this damned disease or die trying. Leave me be!" Molly spoke heatedly. Sherlock was taken aback, although he wasn't completely surprised by her reaction.

"If that's what you wish, I'll leave you to it." Sherlock's face fell into its familiar expressionless veil and he removed his hand from her back, standing as he did so. "Forgive me." He nodded to her and left swiftly. Molly felt another pang of nausea hit her and she resumed her retching, fresh tears following old trails down her face. She hadn't meant to be so rude about it, but this was her life and her fight and she didn't want him to be drug along for the ride with her. She merely wanted to express to him that she was better off doing this alone instead of sitting and suffering with her. She continued to cry, ignoring the nurse and the other patients that surrounded her in the ward as her chemo continued its relentless attack on her body.

Sherlock sat at his desk in 221B Baker Street tapping away on his laptop. He'd recently, and correctly, deduced a murder investigation for Lestrade and was offering his expert witness statement on it when John and Molly entered the flat. Abigail was already fast asleep within her crib, and had been for about an hour. She'd probably wake soon, wanting to be fed once again.

Molly refused to meet Sherlock's gaze, feeling ashamed of her tirade earlier during her treatment, but still wanting to make her point. John said nothing, which was probably wise. He lead her into the bedroom and allowed her privacy to change and crawl into the bed. He entered the living room once more and let out a deep breath as he sat in his armchair. "Well, that did not have the reaction I supposed it would." He commented.

"You went directly against what it was she was wanting, John. Not to mention the fact that she's in a fragile emotional state due to bringing home a newborn and having to undergo such horrible circumstances to remain healthy enough to care for a child." Sherlock spouted. John nodded sarcastically.

"Yes, yes, yes. I thought perhaps it would invoke a bonding experience, as it most times does, but I suppose Molly's just part of the 1%." John rubbed his temples, a headache coming on that he hadn't anticipated. "I do believe I'm going to crash for a nap if you're alright with that. She's pretty weak, so if you need assistance with Abby," John noted and Sherlock waved him away. John trudged up the steps to his bedroom and closed the door behind him.

Sherlock sat, his thoughts burning a whole through his head. He had only wanted to support her and once again she had gone off on him and made him feel two inches tall. He understood the logical circumstances and reasoning behind her argument, but a new feeling had emerged. One of hurt feelings, which he hadn't had the pleasure of experiencing very often, and he could see why. He felt lower than lower, wondering if she was still upset with him, wondering how he was supposed to help her if she didn't want him to. He supposed he was nothing more than a glorified babysitter and nanny now, but that thought did not bother him much either as he absolutely loved being an attentive father to Abigail.

As if on cue, Abigail began to cry. He waited mometarily, wondering if Molly would make the effort to get up and take care of her. After five long minutes of relentless wailing from a hungry baby, Sherlock gingerly entered the bedroom to take her up from the crib. He shushed her and rocked her, and glanced at Molly on his way out the door. She was in the bed, cuddled up underneath the comforter, rolled in to the fetal position, and sleeping like the dead. He said nothing, only took Abigail out into the living room with him, prepared her bottle, and sat with her in his armchair in front of the telly.

Abigail sucked away sweetly at the bottle and Sherlock gazed down on her with loving eyes. "Perhaps its just you and me for a little while, love." He kissed her forehead lightly. "I've devoted my life to you now. Please don't ever turn me away as well." Sherlock closed his eyes as his thoughts turned to those of sadness and serenity.


	22. Chapter 22

Sherlock hailed the cab from St. Bartholomew's, tired, mind racing. It had been a long workday and his head was aching, which did not often happen. The morning had been a trying one, and that was the only reason he'd been driven away from 221B Baker Street under the current circumstances.

The last few days had been extremely trying. When Molly wasn't sleeping the day away or sulking about the flat, she was very moody and tenacious. It seemed that the only thing that seemed to lighten her mood was caring for their daughter Abigail. Sherlock often bowed out of the room whenever these moments came, as he didn't want to ruin Molly's mirth and the bonding he hoped was occurring between mother and daughter.

This morning had been noticeably different. Sherlock had arisen early, and had meet John in the kitchen as the coffee was being prepared. This was a normal thing between the two men, having lived together for the past couple of years and going about a routine. Even being married, the routine stayed the same, Molly simply fit into it well, as did Abigail. Sherlock had heard the first faint cries of Abigail coming from the bedroom and had promptly risen to assist his daughter in the hopes that Molly could gain a few extra hours of sleep.

As Sherlock entered the bedroom and made to pick Abigail up from the crib, he noted that Molly was sitting up on the side of the bed seemingly staring into, or through, the wall. He paused and rounded the corner of the bed. She appeared to be in a trancelike state, which was very unusual and worried him a bit. "Molly?" He asked softly. She didn't respond, only continued to stare ahead "through" the wall. He walked a bit closer and tried once more. "Molly?" He spoke a little louder.

Molly turned quickly to face him, her face twisting into a scene of aggravation and annoyance. "What?!" She snapped at him. The silence became thick.

"Nothing, I was only wondering if you were okay-" Sherlock began. Molly cut him off with a hand, stood quickly, almost too quickly, and tottered a bit on her feet. She had regained most of the use of her motor control and speech but here and there she would have to overcompensate. The chemotherapy continued as well, assaulting her body and not allowing her to gain her strength as quickly as she hoped. Today was her day off of chemo, thankfully.

"Are you just going to let her lay there and cry?" Molly snapped once more, heading over to Abigail's crib and lifting the wailing baby from it. Sherlock merely watched, trying not to react, even though he was somewhat surprised that she had asked him that. "The least you could do is help out with her. I can't do it all by myself!" Molly glared at him.

Sherlock's face literally showed surprise as John entered the bedroom, wondering what the raised voice was all about. "I do care for her, Molly, all the time. You know this." Sherlock stood, wanting to come close and embrace his new family, to make Molly see how much he cared about both of his girls, but sensing her offputting reaction to anything he seemed to say or do, he figured it would be a bad idea at the moment.

"Everything alright?" John asked timidly from the doorway. Molly turned to glare at him as well.

"No, everything is not alright. Ever since we brought the baby home I've had to do it all while he prances around playing cops and robbers." Molly sniveled, most unlike herself and John noted the obvious red flag. He glanced to Sherlock, noting the pained expression upon his face, but stayed neutral.

"I'm more than happy to care for her now, Molly, if you'd like to have a shower or some coffee and wake up a bit?" Sherlock phrased it as a question, although he wasn't quite sure why. He only wanted to make the situation better, but Molly's newfound attitude towards him was very confusing and painful to bear.

"When you decide to be a proper father then perhaps I'll let you have her." Molly shot him one more burning stare before tromping out of the room past John and into the living room. Sherlock stared after her in awe. John watched him.

"Sherlock," John started. He came into the room and shut the door. "It's going to be hard to do, but try not to take this personally. Something is up with Molly, and she needs to go and get checked again. I believe this mood swing and personality change has to do with the illness, not you." John tried to reassure his best friend. Sherlock only stood, the wounds Molly's words inflicted only biting into him more and more. He just could not understand why she was acting the way she was, illness or not.

"I care for Abigail, do I not? Does she not see?" Sherlock sounded as if he were talking to someone far away. John stepped to him and took hold of his shoulder to try and anchor him back to reality.

"Yes, Sherlock, you do. She has seen it, but something is making her forget or jumbling her thoughts or something. We are dealing with brain cancer, so there has to be something else going on." John's face faltered to a frown he couldn't hide. Sherlock met his eyes, wanting to see the truth in them, and he believed that he did. Nonetheless, the words were wounding and they stung greatly on his heart. "I'm going to have a word with her doctor. Just try to play nice, it may come and go."

John led him out into the living area where Mrs. Hudson had taken the liberty of popping in and helping to prepare the baby's bottle. Abigail was cooing away in her mother's arms. Sherlock made to prepare Molly a cup of coffee. He brought it over to her, avoiding her eyes as to avoid the sinister gaze she had already given him many times in the past few minutes. As he made to turn and prepare his own cup Molly caught his hand. Shocked, he turned and looked into her eyes noting the smile and affection that welled up within them.

"Thank you, love." Molly smiled and gave his hand a slight squeeze. Sherlock narrowed his eyes momentarily at her, as if he were the butt of a great joke. She took a sip and make a yummy noise as she toted little Abigail in her other hand. Mrs. Hudson ooed and awed over her cuteness and Sherlock let the women to it as he took his confused and flurried thoughts with him to the desk with his cup of coffee.

Sherlock remembered this scene fondly on the cab ride home. Is there something wrong once more with Molly's brain? A stray lesion? Something that's causing her to not be herself? One minute she hates me, the next its like she's in love with me again...I don't know how much more confusing this entire situation can get. Sherlock sighed. He glanced out the window and noted the market they were passing through. "Stop here please," He asked the cabbie, who promptly pulled over to allow him out.

Sherlock strayed out into the market momentarily, long enough to locate a beautiful bouquet of flowers and a card, before climbing back into the cab and starting off once more for home. Perhaps a gesture of good faith on my part. To reestablish our romance, maybe that's what's missing? Damn it, I wish I was better at these things. Sherlock opened the card, a loving poem of romance and newfound love, and wrote a bit of a message inside for his wife. He situated it within the bouquet and felt his heart lift a bit on the way towards the flat.

Sherlock entered with more vigor than he had previously intended, hoping that he loving gesture would help to spark a bit of a better mood with his wife. Surely she realizes how much I have been a father to our Abigail. It has to be the illness that's causing her to forget... Sherlock started up the stairs to 221B when he heard the first clanging and clashing within the flat upstairs. His face fell into a look of concern, worry, and panic as he raced up the stairs to find Molly flinging dinnerware and pots about the kitchen, screaming in some incoherent language at them. Mrs. Hudson stood horrified nearby, simply watching.

Sherlock took hold of Mrs. Hudson's arm. "What the bloody hell is going on?!" He asked, out of breath from racing up to the flat.

"I- I don't know what's gotten into her! I popped down to my flat for a moment to grab the TV guide I'd told her had been delivered there instead of here. When I came back up she was busting cups on the ground! I haven't been able to get close to her!" Mrs. Hudson's face was pale with fright, wanting to help but not knowing how.

Over the ruckus there could be heard an infant's shrill screaming from the bedroom, to which the door had been pulled to. "Oh gods...Abigail..." Sherlock muttered to himself and his heart fell. He wondered if anything had been done to the child. He decided to brave the flying kitchenware and Molly's apparent wrath as he ran for the bedroom. He flung open the door with breath held, and noticed nothing out of place in the bedroom. Abigail had been lain down for a nap as was her normal way, with no injuries or problems to be noted. Sherlock's knees nearly buckled with relief. He made his way over to her crib, pulling her into his arms and rocking her close, trying to soothe her. It would be impossible to do so with Molly's flinging things about and cussing on the other side of the door. He laid her back down into the crib and opened the door slightly, motioning to Mrs. Hudson to make a run for it.

Mrs. Hudson complied, nearly being blindsided by the tea kettle, but making it nonetheless. Sherlock and Mrs. Hudson both watched, noting that Molly did not seem to even notice they were there. He pulled Mrs. Hudson into the bedroom and shut the door, leaning up against it. "I want you to take this," Sherlock informed as he took his phone from his pocket and handed it to her. "Call John, tell him its an emergency. Then call 911 and have an ambulance here as quick as possible. Keep Abigail safe. I think I can subdue her." Sherlock finished and headed back out the door, slamming it shut behind him.

Molly continued to find new things to through at the refrigerator and the wall. She continued to yell and curse although she wasn't making a whole lot of sense. "Molly!" Sherlock tried to to be firm with her as he approached, and only then did Molly turn to even recognize that he was present. "What's wrong? Why are you so angry?"

"Someone-" Molly started, out of breath from all of her exertions. "Left a bloody child in here. And they've been screaming, and I don't know where they've hidden the damnable thing." Molly was glaring about the flat, as though she were trying to find said child. "I only wanted to return it but they've hidden it so well..." Molly clearly wasn't making any sense. She made to pick up a skillet she hadn't realized was close enough to chuck and made to toss it at Sherlock but he caught it mid throw and held her wrist tightly. "Let go! Thief! Rape! Help!" Molly began to scream at the top of her lungs.

Sherlock didn't know what else to do but to pull her into his arms and bear hug her from behind. She fought him vehemently, causing some great pain to his abdomen, but nothing that couldn't be dealt with. His adrenaline was racing too much for it to be a bother at the current time. He held her as she screamed. She finally gave up the fight and they slid to the kitchen floor in a mess of tears and sobs.

Sherlock knew nothing better to do than to begin to whisper to Molly softly into her ear. "Remember, love. Remember St. Bart's in the lab? All of our experiments and cases? Me and John? Remember our first date? The arts show? The picture upon your wall that you wanted...you wanted it so much I bought it for you. I wanted it for you so you'd be happy. Remember when I asked you to marry me? The flowers, the apartment? Remember, Molly. Please remember. It's Sherlock. It's your husband, and I love you dearly." He continued to whisper as he heard the wail of the ambulance below and the sound of the emergency workers pounding up the stairs.

They entered the flat and immediately set to coming into the kitchen. "I don't know you!" Molly screamed at them and actually seemed to cower more against Sherlock than previously. He held her close, tightly, wanting to comfort her. Sherlock explained the situation quickly to the emergency personnel and they set about making the proper plans for her.

John walked in just in time to see Molly turn enough in Sherlock's arms to look up into his worried placid face and actually see Sherlock once more. "Sherlock!" She cried out and started to sob anew. His eyes registered surprise. "What's going on?! Why are they here? Is Abigail okay?!" She clutched his scarf and coat collar with no intent to release it.

"Abigail's fine, love. But you've had an episode and we need to go see your doctor promptly." Sherlock calmly explained. She looked once more at the unfamiliar faces of the ambulance crew and back to her husband.

"Okay. Come with me though, this time? Please? I'm frightened. And my head is aching awfully." Molly seemed tired all of a sudden and Sherlock feared she might faint. She didn't, only cowered within his arms. He got up off of the floor and stood with her, clutching her close and carrying her out of the room. He passed by John and stopped only for a moment.

"Where's Abigail? Is she-" John started and swallowed hard.

"She's fine. She's in the bedroom with Mrs. Hudson. Please care for her and meet us at St. Bartholomew's if you would." Sherlock asked. John nodded and Sherlock continued down the stairs with his exhausted wife and into the ambulance. She dared not let him go long enough to even climb onto the stretcher the ambulance crew were so keen on her laying upon. She stayed within his protective loving arms the entire ride over. What's happened? What have I done?


	23. Chapter 23

Molly lay in the St. Bartholomew's hospital bed shivering. It seemed cold, even underneath all of the blankets and cuddled up within the warm arms of her husband as he lay in the bed with her she shivered. Nerves. That's what it is. I'm absolutely terrified. Molly shook, trying to gain control of her betraying body. She glanced about, recognizing everything about the room, knowing that it was Sherlock that was holding her close to him as he dozed while spooning her. Merely hours ago she hadn't known any of that. She was someone else in a different body, a different reality. It was frightening. It seemed to come and go.

Molly had realized about a week before that she had begun to lose time. One minute she'd be in the kitchen preparing a bottle for Abigail as she cooed and cried within her arms and merely seconds later Abigail would be within her crib asleep while Molly sat up in the bed. It happened rarely, but then it seemed to be happening more and more. She had never mentioned it to John or Sherlock for fear they would drag her back to this place to have her examined like some lab animal once more. Frankly she was becoming sick of the entire process.

The chemotherapy alone was enough to test her sanity. The constant fatigue, the waves of incessant nausea and vomiting, the headaches that came and went and scared her half to death fearing it was yet another stray lesion eating away at her nervous system. It took everything within her to care for her child after such bouts of chemotherapy, but she remained resilient.

She hadn't meant to come off as testy or snippy towards John or Sherlock, but she wanted to remain as independent as she possibly could through the process. There was no reason to drag her friends and those she loved through this muddied life with her. She felt she was justified in this, although John kept pushing and Sherlock would go along at his behest and become the target of Molly's anger in wanting to do some of it alone. Why can't anyone just understand that I don't want them to see me like that? It isn't a hard thing to wrap your head around. Just to give me a little space...and then I have to pick up the pieces when I try to explain and feelings get hurt. It's exhausting. Molly sighed. Sherlock shifted behind her.

She had been so frightened by her experience that led her back to the hospital that she had asked Sherlock to stay with her and not abandon her throughout. She was slowly losing it emotionally and physically and she wanted to be sure she had the protection of her love now that she seemed to be needing it. The constant threat of mortality was beginning to rear its ugly head and she was beginning to feel everything slipping. She had Abigail now as well, and yet as many times as something had happened she feared for her baby's life as well.

As if something had read her mind, the nurse entered, leading John in with her. John was rocking little Abigail back and forth in his arms as she cooed and he spoke to her softly and soothingly. Molly shifted and sat up within the bed so as to take Abigail. John handed her over willingly with a small smile upon his face. Sherlock yawned and shifted behind her, waking slowly and taking it all in. "Has she already been fed?" Molly asked.

"Not yet, but I believe she's due. I'll fetch you a bottle?" John nodded and left the room. Molly rocked Abigail and sang her to her lightly as Sherlock sat up on his side of the bed.

"Are you alright?" Sherlock asked from behind her. She kept her eyes upon her daughter, taking in each second with her. She hadn't felt safe enough to hold her until now.

"I'm okay. Not even a headache at the moment." Molly answered and babied their infant. Sherlock stood, wandering into the bathroom to do his business and then back out again. He took a seat across from her in the hospital chair and leaned forward. He loved seeing his wife coddle their daughter, so softly and gingerly was every movement. It warmed his heart in ways he never thought possible. Molly smiled at him, if not tiredly, and he returned it in full. "Have you seen the doctor?"

"Yes, he came in while you were asleep. He didn't want to wake you after they'd given you your medication." Sherlock answered. "He says that they need to do another MRI to see what we're dealing with. He wanted to wait until you'd had time to recover from whatever had possessed you in the flat and to see Abigail before he scheduled it. He'd like it done quite quickly though." Sherlock's voice was soft and yet deep and sultry as it always seemed to be.

"Right." Molly sighed and her smile faltered slightly. She feared to find out what it was that was causing so many of her problems. John re-entered the room to bring the bottle to her. Molly caught a wife of something she couldn't place. She took the bottle and thanked him. "New cologne, John?" She asked curiously.

John pulled up the other hospital chair beside Sherlock's and crinkled his brow. "No, no. Same as always." He answered and glanced at Sherlock. Sherlock only shrugged with his facial expressions and Molly giggled, inciting another warm grin from her husband as she did so. Strange, perhaps someone passed by in the hall and I smelled it when John opened the door. Molly shrugged it off as the smell wafted away. She placed the nipple to Abigail's pink lips and watched her latch on and begin to suckle.

"Passed the doctor in the hallway. He's scheduling the MRI within the hour." John informed. Molly nodded. Perhaps it was best to get this over and done with. Molly's attention focused back on her baby. Sherlock and John spoke amongst themselves for who knew how long before her husband's voice jarred her back to reality.

"Shall I take her for a while?" Sherlock asked. Molly shook her head as she noted Abigail was yawning and settling.

"I'd like to lay with her a while if that's okay, love." Molly answered.

"Absolutely." Sherlock smiled and rose, kissing her upon the forehead as he did so. Molly settled back into the bed holding her daughter close to her heart and watching her as she slept.

Molly lay on the MRI table, nervous, dressed only in her gown, and awaiting the scan to commence. She strained to look back into the small room on the opposite side of the glass. She noted Sherlock and John standing within it with the radiologist and the doctor. The doctor had been kind enough to allow the men access while she was scanned being that he and John were close friends. The machine hummed and sang around her. A mechanical sounding voice spoke over the overhead to her. "Are you feeling okay, Mrs. Holmes?"

"Yes, thank you." Molly lied as the machine continued.

"Hold as still as possible and we'll try to have you out of there as soon as we can." The voice repeated.

"Okay." She answered and took deep breaths to calm her nerves. She tried to think of happy moments in her recent life, working with Sherlock and John, visiting with Mrs. Hudson, even moments further back in her history of her childhood and the like, although there weren't many there to revisit. Sherlock seemed to be the guiding light within her mind and her history leading up to their present, she noted. He's been the one thing that always made me happy. He gave me hope, he gave me a chance at romance and love and then he made it come true. I'm his wife, I'm his one person. Molly noted and was surprised at the realization. Even when trying to think about her childhood, her mother, her family, she couldn't really focus. Everything came down to her friends and new family from the past three years. Detective Inspector Lestrade, Mrs. Hudson, Sherlock, John, a few friends from the hospital..This is what my life has become. This is what it culminates to. Nothing else really matters, I suppose. Molly thought to herself.

Suddenly Molly caught another whiff of the fleeting scent she'd noticed earlier. Strange, that. She breathed deeply, but the scent didn't seem to get stronger, only fainter. "Is someone wearing too much cologne?" She asked.

Silence at first from the room. "Not that we're aware of, Mrs. Holmes." The voice repeated.

"Okay." Molly answered and creased her brow, concerned. What is it and where is it coming from? She asked herself. Just as suddenly as it had appeared it was gone.

"That's the second time she's mentioned that." Sherlock noted to John, who nodded. The doctor listened intently as John retold the story from earlier. The doctor seemed interested but if he was over concerned he did not express it.

"It could be a side effect of the lesions effecting her brain. Even though removed, they can cause some residual side effects to her sensory and motor skills." The doctor answered as the scan slowly appeared on the screen. The doctor shook his head and pointed. "Ah. Here is our problem. See?" He pointed to an area within the brain as well to an area upon the spinal cord at her neck. Sherlock felt his blood run cold. John said nothing. The doctor turned to the radiologist that was busy reimaging. "She's finished. Pull her out."

Molly sat on the edge of the bed as Sherlock paced back and forth. "What is it?"

"The doctor will be here shortly. I'll allow him to explain." Sherlock's tone was not a good one. Molly had sensed it often times before in the lab, mostly before something went flying across the table or broke in frustration. "It's not my place." Molly sighed and looked down at her bare feet. She wished she had Abigail. John currently had her and was on his way to 221B Baker Street to allow Mrs. Hudson to take over and care for her a while. John figured Molly might need a little time to take all of the news in.

The doctor entered with her chart and shut the door behind him. He was solemn. "Good evening, Mrs. Holmes. I believe we've located the problem."

"Well, that has to be good news, right?" Molly asked, nervously licking her lips. Sherlock continued to pace. As he neared her she caught hold of his hand, bringing him out of his turmoil. He stood and looked at her, before taking a seat beside her on the bed and grasping her hand tightly within his. "Go on then." She breathed deeply, preparing.

The doctor handed her a few pages of the MRI scans of her brain, brainstem, and spinal cord. He pointed to her brain and circled a darkened area upon it. "This is another lesion, one much larger than I've seen before in your earlier scans. It is effecting the lobe of your brain that deals with emotion, motor skills, and speech. This lesion as tendrils that reach out and are touching all these areas and causing you to forget and to becoming easily agitated and frustrated." The doctor paused, and when Molly said nothing, he pointed to the scan of her spinal cord. He circled a large protruding area. "This is new. This is a tumor that has been growing on your spinal cord and is causing a large part of the problem."

"Oh my god..." Molly gasped. Sherlock said nothing, just watched her face as she reacted. "How long do you think that's been there?"

"I am assured it must have grown during your pregnancy, along with the other lesion we discovered. It would have been too small and hidden to detect at the time of your other lesions that were removed. I am almost assured that this is partly what is causing such a rapid reoccurrence of your lesions." The doctor explained.

"So this thing is feeding the lesions and cancer within my brain?" Molly asked. The doctor nodded. She stared at the pictures of her body and the wounds and scars that adorned it in computer generated form. Her stomach was within her throat. "So, what do we do now? Is the chemo not enough?" *How could the chemo not doing anything to this tumor?!*

"We will need to do a spinal tap as well as a biopsy upon the tumor to figure out exactly what type of tumor we are dealing with." The doctor answered.

"Okay." Molly shook her head as if she was noting she understood. "How soon?"

"We will schedule the spinal tap for first thing in the morning. The biopsy will be determined after. The chemo we can stop for the time being as it seems to not be having much of an effect."

"Okay. Thank you." Molly answered. The doctor took this as the cue to leave and stood, bowing slightly to her as he did. He exited the room. Molly stared at the floor, her heart pounding, breaking out into a clammy sweat. She felt suddenly sick and lightheaded.

"Molly." Sherlock chocked. He was trying to be strong, but hearing such a prognosis was getting to him. This was his wife and the mother of his child, and yet she couldn't seem to catch a break. The world was attempting to break her in one way or another.

Molly leaned into him, emotionless, not wanting to feel. She had hoped it would be just another lesion that could be removed and dealt with. "We will do what we need to do. For Abigail." Molly swallowed hard. Sherlock took her into his arms and held her tightly. It was back. The smell, it was back and suddenly very strong. "Sherlock, I keep smelling something and I can't place it..." Molly started.

The room began to grow brighter and sharper in color. So sharp, in fact, that Molly's eyes throbbed. She moaned and rubbed them, feeling dizzy and and suddenly nauseated. She heard Sherlock's voice come from somewhere and floating ethereally through her mind as it did. She attempted to answer him and found she could not. Then there was nothing but blackness.

Sherlock nearly screamed out for help as Molly collapsed backwards onto the bed, seizing, her body rigid and contracted. Sherlock did his best not to hold her down but to shield her from further injury as she did so. It frightened him to see her in such a fashion as having a grand mal seizure as the foam leaked from her mouth and her eyes were open wide and rolling into the back of her skull. The nurses were there in an instant to assist and Sherlock stood back to allow them to work. He watched on in internal agony as Molly shook about, everything else within the room fading from his conscious view.


	24. Chapter 24

John caught up with Molly as the nurses wheeled her down the hallway towards surgery. He furrowed his brow in confusion to note she was alone. The nurses were kind enough to stop as he caught up with her. "Doing alright?" He asked softly and took her hand comfortingly.

Molly nodded and gave him a worn smile. Her eyes were sallow and her face tired. She hadn't gotten much sleep since her gran mal seizure, fearing she might collapse into yet another if she closed her eyes. "I suppose. They're taking me back for my spinal tap."

"Where's Sherlock?" John asked. The mere mention of the name caused Molly's eyes to divert off in another direction, as though she didn't want to discuss the subject. "I haven't seen him all morning. You'll probably be able to locate him. I don't have the built in Sherlock GPS yet." Molly let out a slight laugh that stabbed at John's heart as she did so.

"Well, alright then. You take care, we'll be waiting for you when you get out, okay?" John smiled and Molly nodded. He leaned inwards to the gurney and gave her a friendly, loving peck on her forehead and allowed the nurses to continue their journey down the hallway. John turned, hellbent on locating Sherlock and wondering exactly what the hell was going on.

It didn't take him too long to locate him, as John was a bit relieved to find him in the nursery feeding baby Abigail her lunchtime feeding. The hospital had been kind enough during their extended stay at St. Bartholomew's to allow Abigail to be housed under 24 hour care within the nursery as to allow Molly and Sherlock to deal with what needed dealt with. John watched him, noting that he was completely focused on the infant as he fed her and spoke to her. John waited patiently until she was properly burped and placed back into her crib for her nap. He also noted that Sherlock's loving and pleased expression faded the moment he exited the door and started down the hallway to their room. John hurried to catch up with him as he entered the room, hardly startled him as he slammed the hospital door behind him. "Is there a reason you didn't go with Molly to her spinal tap?"

"She hardly needs me there." Sherlock answered nonchalantly, gathering his coat and scarf up and applying them. John watched him confused.

"She needs you there for emotional support, Sherlock. You told her you were going to be there for her more in that way, and yet here you are." John was beginning to feel his anger towards his close friend rise up within his throat. Sherlock seemed completely nonplussed about the entire situation, and John didn't know if he'd simply stopped caring or if he was doing very well at hiding it.

"Do we have to have this discussion again? Your wife, Sherlock, just had a gran mal seizure. A gran mal for godsake. She's terminally ill, and now she's just found out she has a giant tumor growing on her spinal cord. She's terrified, and when she needs you the most, you're standing here." John's chest heaved as he worked himself into a frenzy.

"My wife is perfectly fine on her own. There is nothing I can provide her with. I am at least caring for Abigail if you didn't notice. I'm not completely useless." Sherlock furrowed his own brow at John, and John's look softened a bit.

"That's not what I meant, and you know it." John stated. Sherlock looked off into the distance.

"Well, if that's it then, I'm headed to Scotland Yard. Abigail's okay for an hour or so, if not the nurses have her." Sherlock turned to leave and John caught his arm roughly and spun him around.

"You wanted to marry her, to give her something to live for. Now you're leaving her to fend for herself. Do you not understand how insanely cruel that is?" John spat at him. Sherlock's face darkened and John sensed a tension in the room he hadn't noticed there before.

"I did want to marry her, I did marry her. I gave her a child to live for, that doesn't mean I need to be present for every poke and prod they do to her." Sherlock's voice had deepened to one laced with venom and anger. John had only heard it once or twice before but he knew it was a warning sign. "They cut on her and load her with chemicals and try to kill out what seems to not be able to be killed. It continues to return in one fashion or another and I'm watching her waste away in front of me while I worry more and more about that little girl laying in that nursery." Sherlock's voice was now becoming shakey. He turned once more to leave and John caught him again. "For godsake, John." John noted the tears that spilled over onto his cheeks. "Let me go!"

John did quite the opposite. He pulled Sherlock to him in an embrace so tight, Sherlock had no choice but to return it. He simply stood, trying his best to hold back his emotion, not being able to, and becoming completely frazzled by the thought that if he fully released his build up of emotion, things could get very ugly. The very thought frightened him, and Sherlock Holmes was rarely frightened or frazzled by anything. John held him tightly and refused to allow him to leave.

"Sit down." John asked him. Sherlock made no motion to move. "Please." He released Sherlock only when he was sure the man wouldn't flee out the door. The tears continued to fall as he led him to Molly's hospital bed and sat him down. He sat down beside his comrade and placed an arm about his shoulders. "This is unbearable hard, Sherlock. I understand. I saw it all the time in my practice as a doctor and it doesn't get any easier. The fact that you've fallen in love with her only triples the effect, and the fact that you both have a wonderful little girl together with the proposition that she may not make it triples that..." John sighed. "But the thing is, even if they are poking and prodding her, she needs support. While she's being messed with, because of the fact that she's the one experiencing all of this fear as well. You can understand that." John squeezed his shoulder reassuringly as the detective cried in silence. He didn't want to draw attention to this fact, as Sherlock would have been outraged at the show of emotion he was producing. "You just need to be there for her, even if you are fearful of what may or may not happen. Make her feel confident and strong. That way she can fight this better with your help." Sherlock nodded his understanding and John left him to it, wandering over to the box of tissues and handing him a couple, in a manly way.

"I believed I could handle all of this." Sherlock answered. "But I'm finding it more and more difficult to not feel anything as I try to assist her and reassure her. Emotions and sentiment are damnable and I despise them in times like these." Sherlock gathered himself and tried to relax, whipping off his blue scarf and his coat and placing them on the back of the chair. He sat on the bed once more and ruffled his curls as John looked on.

"We all do, Sherlock, especially those of us who feel too much." John sat in the chair and glanced at his watch, awaiting Molly's return.

Molly sat on the edge of the gurney, her hospital gown the only thing covering her thinning frame. She felt vulnerable and chilled as the nurse stood in front of her to steady her and watch her as her vital signs were taken. "Is this going to hurt much?" She asked in a trembling voice.

"It will feel like a lot of pressure. The doctor will numb the area first so you won't feel a lot of pain." The nurse smiled reassuringly at her. Molly couldn't find the energy to muster a smile in response. She sat staring at her pale toes as the doctor entered the room and stood behind her, rustling through his supplies and setting up for the procedure.

"Alright, Ms. Molly. Now the whole idea is, I'm going to place a spinal needle into your back and collect some of the fluid that comes out. You may experience a rather nasty headache afterwards, some people do, but it's nothing to be frightened about." The doctor explained. "Something cold."

It felt as if an ice cube were being pressed against the lower part of Molly's spine. She stiffened at the sensation, but did nothing more. The nurse merely watched her and watched the beeping machine that showed her vital signs. I wish Sherlock or John were here...Her mind wandered as the doctor scrubbed her back with the scratchy cold thing. "Okay, you're going to feel a sting. This is the numbing medicine." The doctor pressed around on her back and bit and then the burning sting of the needle broke her skin. She grimaced at the feeling as the medicine entered her back, but then softened as the strangely numbing effect took over.

"Alright, dear. I'm going to locate the space I need and then I'll do the tap. You may feel a lot of pressure, as you've been told but just bear with us." The doctor began to press and grind his finger upon her back, searching between vertebrae for the perfect and safest area to prick. The pressure began as the doctor made to insert the needle and she grasped the bed with both hands white knuckled as the pressure became close to unbearable. She felt the tears beginning to prick her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. "Ah, there we go. All done." the doctor placed a sticky bandage across her back and helped her to lie back down on the gurney. "You did well, we'll have these results before too long and can go from there." Molly nodded and thanked him and tried to relax. She'd have to spend at least half an hour in "recovery" being monitored by the nurse after having some of her spinal fluid knicked. She wanted nothing more than to get back to the privacy and semi comfort of her room so as to care for her little Abigail and perhaps speak with her recently cold hearted husband.


	25. Chapter 25

Molly lay in the hospital bed staring once again at the wall, curled up in the fetal position. She hadn't seen Sherlock since she had left for the spinal tap. He wouldn't answer his phone. He wasn't at Scotland Yard. Molly sighed. I suppose this was going to happen sooner or later. Molly thought to herself. As I always thought I'd end up in this alone. John had been nice and given her a little bit of space when she'd had Abigail. She'd spent the afternoon and part of the evening feeding, bathing, and coddling her. When she'd nearly slept through a spell of crying the nurse offered to take her for the evening unless Molly asked for her back.

Now she lay alone in the room, thinking thoughts that were less than positive. She didn't know what had spurred Sherlock's sudden disappearance but she figured it was the news that things were not improving that had finally driven him away. The morning before her spinal tap Sherlock had been attentive and loving towards their infant girl, but as soon as the nurse had come to take her away he had become distant and cold, barely answering her questions and staring off into space like he sometimes did when something was on his mind. Molly had tried to spur conversation and he'd finally fled the room to find quieter pastures. Molly couldn't blame him. She wouldn't want to see someone she cared for in her position either. It was hard to be mad at him.

She pushed her hand underneath the pillow to adjust it and felt something rectangular as her hand brushed against it. She grabbed hold of it and pulled it out to reveal an envelope with the name Molly Holmes written across it in beautiful calligraphy. She opened it and read slowly to herself:

Dearest Molly,

I hope you are not too tired from your day to join me. I'm sending a cab for you. The nurse should be up at precisely eight o'clock to fetch you. If you'll come.

All my love,

SH

Molly folded the handwritten letter and placed it back in the envelope, her curiosity peaked. She glanced at the clock. 7:50. She had ten minutes. She quickly got up out of bed and put on a comfortable dress she had packed just because it was one of her favorites, some underwear, and slid on her flats. She messed with her hair a bit and put it up in a cute ponytail and turned as the nurse knocked on the door. "You're cab is here, Mrs. Holmes." The nurse smiled. Molly smiled back at her and thankfully sat down in the wheelchair provided to her, as her back was still sore and she was still fatigued. She was helped into the cab and taken to her mystery destination. The drive was relatively short, outside of London and into the country a bit. The cab dropped her at a private drive a bit of a ways into the country and she noted the tall frame of her husband appear from beside the wooden fence that separated the road from the meadow beyond.

Sherlock took her hand and pulled her to him silently. "Are you okay to walk a bit?" He asked in his deep honeyed voice.

"Yes, I think I can go a ways." Molly answered, not knowing what to think of the situation. She wanted badly to talk to him about his disappearance but decided to see where this was headed instead. He wrapped an arm about her slender waist and lead her through the wooden gate and up a ways into the meadow. Molly could make out the dim glow of light in the nearing distance. "What's this about?" She asked but Sherlock didn't answer, only walked her on at a slowed pace so as not to tire her.

When she had reached the glow of light she noticed it was up a small hill towards a large tree that sat upon it. Lights and lanterns and chimes had been hung within the lower branches of the trees and the entirety of the soft mossy ground beneath it was beautifully illuminated. Soft blankets and pillows had been scattered around the ground below. "Oh my!" Molly gasped as she put a hand to her mouth. She was very surprised to see that Sherlock had gone through the trouble of all of this. "It's beautiful!"

"You really do like it?" Sherlock asked, as if unsure that she was honest in her saying so. He lead her up and steadied her as she kicked off her flats and sat down among the softness of the blankets.

"Yes, Sherlock, I absolutely love it..." She glanced around, taking it all in, blushing as she did so. He did all of this for me...He toed off his own shoes and joined her. "You didn't have to-"

"Yes, I did. I've been so back and forth lately, Molly, and I haven't meant to. You must understand that I haven't really had to deal with a situation as this before, and I've always kept my emotions at bay. It's becoming harder and harder with every update that you've gotten a new lesion and now the tumor..." Sherlock stopped himself. He didn't want to start this date off on a sour note by reminding her of everything they were already aware of. "I wanted to show you that I truly love you and that nothing I can do would ever match up to what I feel for you." Sherlock leaned in close, a hand gently behind the nape of her neck and pulled her close for a kiss. Molly closed her eyes and met his warm lips sweetly, feeling the blush spread throughout her body. Moments later he broke off the kiss and looked deep within her eyes. "I love you. Please forgive me for how I've behaved."

"You're forgiven, love." Molly smiled and it illuminated her entire face. Sherlock was relieved to see his Molly within that smile and kissed her once more. He leaned over to the side and pulled out two glasses and a bottle of champagne. He raised them as well as his eyebrows as if to ask if she'd like some and she nodded enthusiastically. He poured them two glasses full and brought them round to a toast.

"To our love, to our marriage, to our Abigail, and to our life together for as long as we both shall live." Sherlock spoke as he gazed into her eyes. The darkness and the soft yellow glow of the lights made him mysterious and handsome all the same. They clinked their glasses cheerfully and drank down their champagne. Sherlock laid back upon the pillows, an arm around Molly as she laid into him and they gazed off into the distance. Lightening bugs were illuminating the dark night air here and there with their luminescence.

"Is this your land?" Molly asked.

"No, Mycroft owns it. He owns a lot of real estate. I've considered perhaps building out here, but I haven't had the heart to leave the flat until recently." Sherlock sighed as he rubbed her shoulder nonchalantly.

"Oh, how beautiful it would be out here! But then again where would John..." Molly started and glanced up at Sherlock. Sherlock smirked back at her and made her giggle. "Would he have a place as well?"

"If he wanted. I'm sure you wouldn't mind. He could have his very own guestroom he could make his own until the right person came along and such." Sherlock stated. Molly liked that idea. She couldn't bear to see the two men separated merely due to their marriage. John was welcome anywhere they went if he wanted to be.

Molly gazed at her husband as he stared off into the dark, peaceful, complacent, without a care in a world at that moment. The kiss had ignited her feelings of desire she hadn't long felt. She placed a hand on his thigh as she took everything in as well. Sherlock glanced down at it but did nothing. Molly teasingly rubbed it farther up towards his groin. Sherlock watched it intently, glancing at her as she met his gaze. "Molly Holmes..." Sherlock purred as she continued to trace up his leg and finally to his groin where a considerable amount of action seemed to be taken place. "Are you trying to seduce me?"

"It doesn't seem that I'll need to try very hard, detective." Molly answered, completely straight faced, which seemed to throw Sherlock off of his game a bit. She laughed finally as she slowly unzipped his fly and slid her hand within the growing tightness of his trousers to stroke and caress him. He sighed in response, the feeling one not forgotten despite the length of time they'd had to wait between baby and hospital visits. He was immediately upon her, kissing her, drinking her in, running his hands up the hem of her dress to the panties she wore underneath. His fingers skimmed over the edge of them and his groin twitched in response. Every touch of Molly's hand upon him had him growing needy.

"Do you want this?" Sherlock breathed into her ear as he kissed about her neck and her jawline. "I don't want to hurt you after all you've had done..."

"I want you, Sherlock. I'm ready." Molly answered breathily as Sherlock caressed her sex to find her wet and wanting. Sherlock smiled as he did so and slid her panties slowly down her legs to where she could kick them off. He removed his clothing quickly, before peeling her dress off of her. Lastly, Sherlock removed her ponytail holder, allowing her hair to spill out and about her head like a halo on the blankets they lay on. Molly lay before him naked and waiting as Sherlock lay over her and gazed down on her.

"You're so fascinatingly beautiful. I don't know how I couldn't have seen you before." Sherlock whispered to her as he climbed on top of her and positioned himself. He kissed and caressed each breath, her collarbone, her stomach with its tiger striped stretch marks from carrying their child, not caring how Molly felt they looked. They were lovely to him in any light. Molly took hold of him once more, with urgency, stroking him as he touched her sex with his member. He moaned as she did so and took it as a sign to enter her, sliding into her slowly and lovingly. Molly closed her eyes and brought her hips up to meet him as he did so, almost inadvertantly pushing him over the edge to his climax before anything had even taken place. She felt so wonderfully warm and wet. He joined her mouth to mouth once more as he steadily began to move, slowly making love to her, listening to each whimper and moan that they made together. She grabbed his hips and pulled him in as close as she could with each thrust, wanting to feel him as deep within her as he could possibly get. It did not take long before she came around him, crying out his name as she did so and causing his release at the sinful sounds his lover made as she did so.

The two lay together naked and glistening with sweat as the cool night air chilled their bodies. The lightening bugs did their dance. The stars twinkled high above them. The lanterns illuminated their naked skin and enhanced the glow of their lovemaking as Sherlock stroked Molly from her soft blushing cheeks down past her breasts and to her hip. The breeze twinkled through the chimes in the trees and caused a soothing array of sounds as they lay silently in each others arms. It wasn't long before Molly decided to pull him into another kiss, pulling him once more on top of her with renewed vigor. And so their night was spent, making love beneath the stars and taking each other in with abounding love.


	26. Chapter 26

Molly awoke refreshed and glanced sleepily around the room. She could hear the soft snoozing of her husband as he lay in the bed beside her, his arm wrapped lovingly about her slender waist as they slept together in the hospital bed. Abigail lay quiet in her hospital crib beside Molly and she reached out to touch her baby girl, and thought better of it, not wanting to wake her when everything seemed just so perfect.

She rose up in the bed, running a hand through her hair and felt Sherlock stir beside her. She glanced down at him as she sat up in the bed. She ran a hand through his lazy dark curls as he slept and smiled to herself. Things were such a crazy roller coaster ride lately, but she was still blessed in many ways. She heard a slight sigh and glanced at the sleeper couch that was provided within the hospital suite. John lay on it, arm cast up above his head as he slept. She laughed to herself. These were her boys. She was so grateful for everything they'd done for her.

There was a soft knock at the door and two nurses entered. "We're here to get you ready for your biopsy, Mrs. Holmes." The taller, older nurse said. Molly nodded and yawned. She had been dreading this day, but ever since her night under the stars with Sherlock. Their bond had been re-established then, and she hoped it would stay that way. The second nurse came and took Abigail in her crib back to the nursery and Molly sighed as she watched her go. As Molly proceeded to get prepared for her surgical procedure, Sherlock and John slowly awoke. Sherlock was watching her intently as John left to bring him them some coffee. Molly wished she could have even a sip, but knew it was not allowed due to the fact that she would be going under the knife once more.

Molly laid on the gurney that was provided to her and reluctantly applied her blue surgical cap. John came and gave her a hug as she proceeded to lay back. Sherlock stepped to her side and glanced at the nurse. "I'll be joining her." He stated.

"Mr. Holmes, we don't allow anyone back past recovery."

"I understand on a normal basis that you wouldn't. My colleague Dr. Watson has spoken to Mrs. Holmes surgeon and has gained permission for me to accompany her throughout this surgical procedure." Sherlock always sounded so professional and smart when he spoke. Molly smiled up at him, surprised that he had taken this step.

"I'll check in with the surgeon. I'll be right back." The nurse bowed out of the room, only to return a minute later with confirmation that what Sherlock spoke of was true. Sherlock bent and placed a kiss upon Molly's forehead.

"I'm going to be here with you throughout the entire thing, love." Sherlock stated as he stroked her cheek. "Not going to run away this time."

"Thank you." Molly whispered and drew him gently into another kiss. John cleared his throat, knowing the nurse was growing somewhat impatient, as she had a schedule to keep.

"I'll see you lovebirds in a few hours." John remarked and patted Sherlock on the shoulder before grasping Molly's hand and giving it a squeeze. "You'll do fine, dear." John smiled and backed away as they started their journey to the surgical floor. Sherlock found Molly's hand on the way and held it as if he were afraid to let it go.

Molly lay face down in the strange surgical bed, her face protruding from the hole in the cushioned mattress that would allow full access to her spine. Sherlock sat beside her, stroking her neck in a protective and loving gesture. Molly was taking deep breaths, always becoming nervous throughout these things. Molly heard her surgeon enter the operating room. She closed her eyes, trying to keep her panic at bay.

"Alright, Mrs. Holmes. We're not going to have to put you under for this. We're going to give you a local anesthetic so as to allow you to remain awake while we biopsy the tumor, okay?" The sophisticated voice of the surgeon echoed through the sterile room.

"O-Okay..." Molly answered reluctantly. The idea of having a man cutting on her spine while she was still awake terrified her, but she understand it was done for certain reasons. They wouldn't be removing the tumor just yet, but merely taking a biopsy of it to examine what it was they were dealing with. Sherlock rubbed her neck a bit firmer, as to remind her he was present.

"She won't be feeling any pain, correct?" Molly heard Sherlock grumble. He wasn't pleased, perhaps frightened of the procedure as well.

"She won't feel anything but perhaps some pressure." The surgeon replied. "Alright, we are ready to begin." She felt the chill of the surgical scrub as they cleansed her skin as well as the prick of the needle in several places as they numbed her. The anesthesist that sat at the top of the surgical table was giving her something to keep her calm but her heart felt as if it were about to race out of her ribcage and across the floor. Sherlock seemed to sense it.

"Are you okay?" He bent close to her and whispered into her ear. She didn't answer, tried to focus on the task at hand of calming herself before she became a claustrophobic nutjob strapped belly down to a surgical bed. "Molly?" He asked again. Movement from up top. Suddenly, Sherlock's brilliantly blue green eyes were staring up at her from the floor.

"Mr. Holmes! What are you doing? You're disturbing a very delicate procedure-" The surgeon began.

"I'm calming my wife, whom you're cutting open, sir." Sherlock stated rather firmly back at him. The surgeon said nothing more, but continued his work. Molly gasped down at him, still fighting the urge to calm herself. "It's alright, love." Sherlock reassured her, giving her his wickedly handsome half smirk. "I promise to take you to an even better evening out once you're well and able." Molly giggled, remembering the events of their last date night. She was blushing, she could feel it.

Pressure from above causing her to wince. Sherlock's smile faltered. "Just pressure. It's not pain. It's just, uncomfortable." She told him, knowing the last thing this OR needed was an irate Sherlock Holmes rampaging around in it like a bull in a china shop. Sherlock watched her, taking her gaze, locking it in so as to become the only thing she could focus on.

"So, tell me, wife." Sherlock began. "Where should we be off to next?"

Molly awoke from her long afternoon nap not long before the doctor entered the room. Sherlock and John were speaking emphatically to him, and the conversation seemed to be an exciting one. Molly sat up in the bed, looking over to see that Abigail was beside her and was squirming about, wanting attention. She reached in and took hold of her, bringing her close to her bosom and rocking her quietly. The three men seemed to realize that she was calming the baby and lowered their conversation somewhat. Soon, her doctor approached.

"I've received the results of the biopsy and I must say the prognosis is astonishingly good, if not somewhat baffling." The doctor gave her a hopeful grin. Sherlock approached the bedside and sat upon it, taking little Abigail's hand in his own as she grasped at his long, lean fingers. "It turns out that the tumor is benign. The growth is being caused by something foreign in your body, and even though the lesions are cancerous, the tumor is not."

"So..." Molly crinkled her brow. "This is good news, right? But how can a noncancerous tumor feed cancerous lesions?" She glanced at John, who only shrugged but look confused as well.

"This I am not sure of, but we are going to run many more tests from the material that we have gathered. We can surgically remove the tumor once we've realized what we are dealing with. But the fact that it is not lethal is very very reassuring." The doctor concluded, said his goodbyes for the moment, and left the room.

"This is wonderful news." John smiled. Sherlock looked nearly overjoyed, if you could call it that. Sherlock showing emotion was something Molly was still trying to get the hang of. Abigail cooed as her father played with her little chubby hands and Molly giggled at the sound of it.

"A noncancerous tumor that produces cancerous lesions. Quite curious." Sherlock's eyes were lost in thought. "Perhaps..." Sherlock glanced at John, giving him a look only the two of them would know what it meant. "This requires some brainwork." Sherlock kissed little Abigail upon her head, kissed his wife lovingly upon her mouth, and rose to exit the room. John bowed to her a bit before following close after. If anyone can find something out, surely its my boys. Molly thought to herself before turning her full attention to her baby girl.


	27. Chapter 27

Sherlock awoke early in the morning, hearing the birds as they chittered away outside on the ledge of the flat above them. The sun hadn't even arisen yet. He wondered what had awoken him. He glanced over at his sleeping wife, Molly, as she dozed away, unaware that he had awoken. Sherlock was usually a good sleeper, not too deep, but not light enough that he was easily awoken by anything. He glanced over at Abigail's crib and noticed that she lay sleeping as well, cooing here and there within a dream, if infant children did so dream. Sherlock was absolutely fascinated by every aspect of his daughter. Knowing that his two women were asleep was a comfort.

He glanced back down a Molly and watched her as she slept. She was so peaceful when not trying to put on a happy face when she was feeling down. She was becoming slightly easier for him to read, opening up to him in ways she had promised herself she wouldn't given her current condition. Being married to a genius wore you down after a while, he supposed. He reached over slowly and softly stroked her long hair as it spilled out over the pillow. He truly loved her, he felt things he hadn't allowed himself to feel for her. Emotions and sentiment were both implicitly wonderful and heartwrenchingly shattering at the same time. He wondered how empathetics functioned. It must be exhausting. He continued to stroke her hair lovingly and she stirred. He stopped as she turned over in the bed, teasingly naked, pulling the cotton sheet over her as she did so, and rested into the crook of his arm. She never awoke, only instinctively turned towards him and knew where to place her head. He gazed down upon his wife, feeling her heat upon his bare skin. He placed a soft kiss upon her forehead and settled back against the pillow to fall back asleep.

Suddenly he heard a soft knock upon the bedroom door and John Watson entered. His dark silhouette outlined him, and the shape of his firearm could be seen. Sherlock's instincts were on alert. "Sherlock."

"What?" Sherlock whispered back to him, not wanting to wake his family if the need wasn't there.

"I think there's someone in the flat." John whispered back. Sherlock felt the familiar pangs of panic begin within him as the adrenaline began to seep through his blood and muscles. "I heard someone and I thought it was you taking care of Abigail, but something is wrong, Sherlock." John neared the bed, and perhaps noting that Molly was naked turned to look towards the window. Sherlock sat up in the bed, softly cradling Molly's head and moving her over as to allow her to continue to sleep. Sherlock got up out of the bed and took hold of his own firearm that he had put away within the nightstand.

Sherlock made quick and quiet work of checking the windows within the bedroom and adjoining bathroom. All were locked and barred tightly as they should have been. The two headed out with firearms raised into the kitchen area of the flat, and Sherlock hesitated. If there was anyone in the flat he didn't want to leave his family alone and asleep within a room where they could be harmed. Sherlock pulled the door too behind him and made the choice to follow John throughout the house as to flush out any intrusion.

The bathroom was clear, as was the kitchen and living room. John had ventured upstairs to his own bedroom, and Sherlock stayed below and surveyed the lightening darkness to see if anything could be seen. He strained his hearing for a moment, exponentially heightened within the darkness, and noted the movement of something downstairs. He couldn't differentiate between it being Mrs. Hudson, or someone else. John appeared at the top of the stairs to the upper bedroom and Sherlock motioned to him to the downstairs. The two men hurried as quietly as they possibly could down the stairs and out the open swinging front door to221B Baker Street. The two men glanced off in every direction to get glimpse of whomever had been inside their flat.

"I'll contact Lestrade." John stated after a few moments with nothing to show for it. They hurried back inside, Sherlock taking the stairs two at a time to get back to his bedroom and see that both Molly and Abigail remained peacefully asleep. He sighed, his adrenaline still racing. As if there wasn't enough to worry about, now someone had been inside their home, the one place he had figured they'd had to go where nothing could get to them. He was torn between telling Molly and keeping it quiet until something could be confirmed. He would wait and speak to Lestrade.

Molly awoke as the first bright rays of daylight crept into the bedroom. She sat up, stretching, her face twisted in confusion from her waking from the dream she had just experienced. She glanced about the bedroom. All windows closed and locked, Abigail kicking and cooing within her crib. Molly got up and took Abigail to her, holding her close and rocking her as she glanced about. Nothing looked out of place. It was a dream. It had to be only a dream. What else could it possibly have been?

Molly had dreamt she had awakened within the night. Sherlock lay beside her, arm draped about her chest in slumber. She had smiled to herself to note that everything was as it should have been. She had taken the glass of water that Sherlock always sat beside her side of the bed in case she would need it later in the night. Her medication often caused dry mouth and this way she didn't have to be bothered to awaken just for a drink. She drank half of it down, feeling ravenously thirsty before she lay to go back to bed. She hadn't noted anything strange at that time, but quickly fell back into slumber.

When her eyes had fluttered later on in her dream, she found her vision swimming, her lids heavy, although she fought to keep them open. Someone was in the room, and Sherlock's arm was still draped about her as it had been previous. Someone in a suit it would seem, a dark, slender, short figure that wasn't John was walking about the room and away from her nightstand. She fought to open her eyes a little wider but couldn't. She drifted off to sleep once more.

Molly had been released from St. Bartholomew's after her biopsy results had come back negative. The doctor would operate, but he was trying to prepare her to be healthy and have things settled before the operation took place. Sherlock had convinced the doctor to allow her to prepare from home, so as to properly care for Abigail and to allow Molly as much rest without hospital related anxiety as possible. They were three days into being home before the dream, which seemed to be reoccurring had presented itself. She'd dreamt something of the sort once before, but had never mentioned it to anyone, as it was a dream and only a dream.

Molly rocked little Abigail and took hold of the door to pull it open. She entered the kitchen, noting Mrs. Hudson setting their desk/dining table for breakfast. Sherlock and John were present, speaking delicately over their newspapers about something that Molly couldn't make out. Probably more Scotland Yard related crime business, she thought to herself. She brought Abigail over to Mrs. Hudson, who instantly threw her hands up in excitement and took the baby girl from her to prepare a bottle. Molly came to join the two men at the table. Their conversation ceased as she approached. "Morning." Molly smiled at them.

John returned the smile with a "Good morning!", Sherlock returned it with a tender kiss and that devilish half grin Molly felt faint in the knees with everytime she glimpsed it. "Everything okay?" John asked.

"Yes, I believe so..." Molly started, her thoughts turning back to her dream. "I've just been having the strangest dreams. Dreams of people walking about the bedroom when we're asleep. I suppose it's just a form of pre-surgical anxiety again." Molly yawned and got back up to grab a cup of coffee. John and Sherlock stared at each other, a knowing look upon each of their faces.

"What did this person look like?" Sherlock inquired.

"Short, short hair, wearing a suit it looked but I couldn't tell." Molly returned, stirring the coffee with a spoon. Sherlock said nothing else. "I'm sure it's all just a silly dream." Molly sipped the coffee. She stared sleepily ahead into the morning light seeping in through the window. "Anyway, how did you both sleep?"

"Beautifully." John answered quickly. Molly smiled and finished her coffee, standing up to gather Abigail to her and give her the bottle Mrs. Hudson had prepared for her. She walked back towards the bedroom as Abigail suckled, hoping to lay her back down afterwards and allow her to sleep before she awakened again.

Sherlock stared edgily at John, who was returning the look. "Lestrade can only do so much, John." Sherlock answered and folded his hands under his chin in thought.

"I know. We're going to have to set up some type of security it would seem. We can't be staying up every night waiting for whoever it was to return." John sighed. "Do you think Molly's dream was a dream, or a glimpse of whomever was inside our flat last night?"

"I'm not sure. I'll have to pry deeper into that one." Sherlock answered and closed his eyes. If they weren't dealing with Molly's illness it was something else. He intended to get to the bottom entirely. He would not allow his family and their happiness to be compromised.


	28. Chapter 28

The next few days following the strange incident of the mysterious man within the flat were increasingly trying for Sherlock, Molly, and John. Sherlock was aware that something was afoot but he couldn't place exactly what it was.

The intruder had not returned to the flat following his visit that night. John and Sherlock had taken to taking shifts without Molly's knowing to keep awake and watch for signs of intrusion. Sherlock played it off as though he were doing some late night look up on a case for Lestrade. John didn't need an excuse as he wasn't tied down maritially to anyone within the flat and could do as he pleased. Both sat in the dark for hours on end with firearm in hand awaiting a visitor. None came.

Mrs. Hudson often helped Molly with baby Abigail whenever Sherlock and John were truly away from the apartment. Little did Molly know how trying it was for Sherlock to leave his family at home to attend to what used to be his one and only love: his brainwork. Now he worried constantly about their safety and Molly's health.

Molly had begun to get progressively worse once more. Sherlock couldn't explain it. John checked her over daily, vitals, medicines given correctly and on time as often as they were prescribed, plenty of rest, fluids, and time with the baby. Sherlock feared at the rate she was going she may not be healthy enough for the scheduling of the tumor removal. John kept in daily contact with Molly's doctor, who assured him that he was doing all he could do from where she was most comfortable, and that bringing her in at the moment would probably only increase her depression and anxiety towards the situation. John elected with Sherlock's input to keep her at 221B Baker Street for the time being.

Sherlock had first noticed the decline in Molly a few days following the intrusion upon their flat as well as the strange dreams that Molly seemed to continue to have. She was losing large chunks of time. For example, he once caught her standing in the middle of the bathroom, naked and sopping wet, unable to remember why she was standing there in such a state. "You've just been in the shower, love." He had explained to her.

"I don't remember taking one. I was just feeding Abigail..." She gazed at him with glassy eyes, a lost look deep within them where her liveliness usually dwelled. Sherlock merely wrapped the towel about her and would explain her entire process from feeding Abigail to entering the shower and to the present. Molly wouldn't argue, but the look of utter disbelief within her eyes was enough to wrench his heart as he helped her.

From there Molly had regressed to loss of motor control from time to time. There were periods that Sherlock would literally pick her up and carry her to where she desired to go in the apartment because she either didn't have the strength to do so herself, or she found once more that she would lose complete feeling in one or both of her legs and be unable to care for herself. She would only lapse into periods of crying after he'd taken her to where she needed to be and had begged him to leave her there to her business. She didn't dare stand anywhere with Abigail in arm for fear she'd lose control and drop the poor infant. This thought plagued and terrified her beyond belief. She was becoming almost too fearful to even attend to her daughter and her heart broke at the thought.

She often awoke in the middle of the night, strangely fatigued, unable to rise up to care for Abigail, for which she was thankful Sherlock would come to her aid and allow her to rest. She'd gaze around the room with half opened eyelids, searching for the strange, short haired man in the suit that seemed to pay her a nightly visit. Molly often wondered if it was truly a dream or merely a delusion of her exhausted mind. She'd felt fine before she'd began to dream of him again, now each day was a struggle. It couldn't be explained.

On this particular night, Molly had evidently had enough. She'd been sitting in Sherlock's armchair watching the telly and nursing little Abigail to which she smiled to ever suckle and coo that the baby produced. Sherlock and John sat at their usual places at the desk, having an after dinner drink and delving into some casework that had been provided by Detective Inspector Lestrade. Sherlock had watched Molly as her head dipped, noting that she was either passing out or simple going to sleep. Abigail wasn't in any harm, but Sherlock decided it was perhaps time to get Molly to bed. She'd been out of sorts completely the entire day. He hadn't seen much of his Molly for most of the time he'd been home.

Sherlock approached her, watching as her chin hit her chest as she fell to sleep. He reached in and made to take Abigail gently out of her hands. The touch caused Molly to awake in surprise and clutch the baby to her chest fearfully. Wild glazed eyes stared up at Sherlock. "Love, I only mean to take Abigail so I can help you to bed." He answered. She nodded some sort of agreement and her grip upon the baby lessened enough to where Sherlock could remove the child and hand her softly to John who awaited her with open arms and a lighthearted smile. "Can you stand?" Sherlock asked Molly.

"I think so..." Molly answered so softly that Sherlock could barely hear her. He offered her both hands so as to allow her to take them and pull herself up out of the chair. She did so, although with jerked reflexes that bore into him. The motor control was not functioning well tonight either it would seem. She made to pull herself up and found not the strength to do so. What the bloody hell is wrong with me?! She screamed from within her mind, not wanting the words to escape her mouth as even those she feared would probably come out slurred or jumbled. She tried again, three times, vaguely able to lift herself to a sitting on the edge position before she would give out. She dropped his hands in aggravation and sighed deeply.

"Let me help." Sherlock smiled lovingly at her, dipping down to take her into his arms and lift her. As he did he noted her drop in weight. She barely weighed anything to him now. Either he was getting stronger from carrying her here and there, or she was losing it and rapidly. His heart fluttered with sadness and worry. His brow creased, momentarily showing his thoughts. He hoped Molly hadn't caught it. She wrapped her arms about his neck and buried her head into his chest as he walked her into the bedroom. He sat her down and shut the door slightly, beginning to slowly undress her. He glanced up only once and noted the tears being allowed to fall freely and hot upon his arms as they fell from the rivers on her cheeks. "Oh, Molly. What's wrong?"

"I-I-" She sobbed and shook her head erratically. "I don't know what's wrong with me. I've never had problems develop this quickly. The doctor said the tumor was benign...I can't even care for Abigail..." She stated all these worries with a heartbreaking waterfall of hurt and fear and anger that was palpable within the air. "I'm a worthless shell of a person, Sherlock. I'm not your wife, I'm not a mother, I'm wasting away..." She cried. Sherlock quickened his actions, undressing her and pulling the silk nightgown over her head before taking her face gently within his hands and pulling her into a kiss. He kissed the tears, trying not to become overcome with emotion as well, as to see her in such a state physically crushed his very soul. "I wish you'd just let me die, Sherlock. Let me go."

"I'll never allow it." His voice was deep but firm. He met her eyes and wiped the oncoming tears away from her cheeks with his thumbs as he looked into the eyes that seemed to be more Molly than they had been earlier. "Even if it comes down to that, Molly, you won't be doing it alone. I'll never leave you." She began to cry harder, which was not his intention, but she reached out to wrap her tired arms about his waist and he pulled her into a warm, strong embrace. He held her as she cried and stroked her hair as he spoke to her. "You're a wonderful, attentive, loving mother. Abigail wants for nothing, even when I'm not present. You're the one and only woman who holds my heart. You are not a shell of anything. You are Molly Holmes and you are a fantastically smart, lively woman who's struggling but is going to come out on top. You're fighting through this, and we are right here with you every step of the way." He laid husbandly kisses upon her forehead and her hair that still smelled sweetly of vanilla and simply held her. "I love you, and you love me. This is all that matters."

"I love you, Sherlock. Most dearly, I do." Molly's crying was starting to lighten although it had not ceased. The embrace ended and she smiled up at him with swollen puffy tired eyes. He kissed her once more before she laid down and he covered her with the comforter. He glanced up as John entered the room and handed off Abigail to him as he was taking care to offer Molly her glass of water that Sherlock offered her every evening. Molly said nothing to him, just offered a fragile smile and waved him away as she turned towards the wall to drift into sleep. Sherlock and John left the room and shut the door behind them. Sherlock glanced down as Abigail was sleeping quietly. He figured he'd rock her for a bit before putting her down to sleep to allow Molly time to rest before she may awaken during the night. John drank down the untouched glass of water he'd brought for Molly and the two men said nothing to each other as they went about their nightly business.

John sat at the desk sleepily nodding off. Sherlock didn't seem to be paying him any mind as he was doing so, just continued to tap away on his laptop. "Sherlock, I'm starting to get tired. You mind taking first shift?" He asked. His vision was beginning to swim and he felt exhausted as if the energy he'd felt so vigorously perhaps thirty minutes prior was quickly seeping out of him. Sherlock glanced up at him.

"No, I don't mind at all." Sherlock narrowed his eyes at his friend. "Are you feeling okay? You look pale." John was starting to sway in the chair.

"No, I really don't- I feel-" John's eyes rolled into the back of his head as the world went black and he fell from the chair to the ground. Sherlock quickly fled to his side and examined him.

"John?! John!" Sherlock slapped the army doctor in the face to startle him awake. All he got in response was a sleepy, moaning half lidded awakening. What the devil is this?! Sherlock quickly lifted John by his shoulders and drug him to the couch in the corner, placing him upon it. He found the doctor's medical kit and quickly began to assess him to the best of his ability. His pupils were pinpoint, his speech slurred, his reflexes nearly nonexistent. Sherlock panicked, wondering if he should call an ambulance. He glanced at the syringes and drugs within the kit. Narcan...I wonder...Sherlock picked up the preloaded syringe and stuck it within John's thigh, injecting the contents quickly. He glanced at the clock. Minutes passed light syrup in the cold before finally John seemed to come around.

"What the fu-" John began and a hand went to his forehead as if the man had a horrible headache. "What the bloody hell just sodding happened?!" John was more himself and definitely more awake. He stared at Sherlock is disbelief.

"What did you just experience?" Sherlock took him by the shoulders and shook him somewhat. John waved him away disconcertingly.

"I just started to feel so tired and I couldn't keep my eyes open and then I suppose I passed out. How long have I been out?" John asked, regaining his strength.

"Eight minutes tops." Sherlock answered. He handed John the empty syringe of Narcan. John stared at it wide eyed. "You've been drugged, John. It couldn't have been in the supper as I would have been subject to it as well. Have you ingested anything else tonight that I have not?" Sherlock asked.

John thought long and hard, ignoring the constant ache in his head. He glanced at Sherlock. "Oh my god."

"What?"

"Molly's water."

"What?!"

"Molly's water. She refused her nightly glass of water so I drank it as we came out of the room. That's the only thing I've had recently that you didn't." John sprang up and ran to the sink to retrieve the glass. "Grab your lab kit, Sherlock. Perhaps we have a reason as to why Molly's declining to rapidly." Sherlock hurried to grab the kit as John stared with growing lividity at the empty glass he turned in his hands.


	29. Chapter 29

"Have you retrieved enough of it?" John asked as Sherlock continued to swab, tape, and nearly dismantle the glass that John had drank out of. John still rubbed his head as it ached enormously. Had to have been the Narcan. John couldn't believe that he had actually been unknowingly drugged within their own flat. It was worse that the drug was meant for Molly and not for him. There was no way anyone could have known that he would drink from the glass. Routine would be the death of them it seemed. Sherlock hastily applied the swabs and samples to the insides of their sterile bags and sealed them.

"Yes, I believe so." Sherlock rose, pushing the samples into John's hands and taking his coat from off of the back of the door to apply it. "We need to make haste to St. Bartholomew's."

"Sherlock!" John stuttered. Sherlock stopped momentarily and met his eyes. "We can't just leave Molly and Abigail here with no one to watch them!" Sherlock's eyes widened. He hadn't even thought about it in his haste to find out what was really happening to his wife. "Should I stay and you go?"

"No. Phone Lestrade." Sherlock barked and John was on it before another word could be said. He entered the bedroom, trying his best to be quiet as he did so. Molly and Abigail were both sound asleep and none the wiser of what was happening. Sherlock suddenly felt the anger welling up within him. How dare someone enter my home and attempt to drug my wife? What reasons would one have for doing so? Sherlock hoped their intruder would make a return visit. Merely so that he could be caught and properly dealt with not by Scotland Yard, but by himself alone. John entered the bedroom and motioned for him to join him out in the kitchen. Sherlock glanced back once more upon his sleeping wife and exited the room, closing the door lightly behind him.

"Lestrade is on his way. Should be here in less than ten minutes. He'll keep watch while we do our work at Bart's." John stated. Sherlock nodded and headed for his scarf. He stood wondering if there was anything else within the flat that needed examined. Surely if the water was being tampered with...his eyes widened once more.

"The medicine." Sherlock grabbed John by the shoulders as he often did when he had just come to a realization.

"What about it?"

"The only other thing she is ingesting that we are not, John." Sherlock's mouth formed a thin hard line. He was livid. He turned to enter the bathroom and searched the cabinet for the array of medicines belonging to Molly. He pulled out a few of each and placed them in their own sample bags before replacing them in the cabinet.

"Bloody hell, Sherlock. You don't think-" John stopped himself and glanced up at Sherlock.

"Perhaps the reason Molly's become so ill is not because she was susceptible to developing cancerous brain lesions." Sherlock's blood was nearly boiling. John swallowed hard as the idea crept and found a place within his mind as well. "Perhaps its because someone's been poisoning her body."

"But why would someone do that, Sherlock?" John asked, absolutely baffled. He couldn't understand why anyone would try to hurt Molly. For any reason.

"There are many people in this world, John, who only live to hurt others." Sherlock sighed as Lestrade bounded up the stairs, Mrs. Hudson following soon after shutting the door downstairs.

"What can I do, boys?" Lestrade asked, completely straight faced, hands on his hips as he listened intently.

"We need you to watch over Molly and the baby while we go do some emergency lab work at Bart's." John answered.

"What's with the emergency?" Lestrade questioned.

"We believe that she might have been drugged or poisoned." Sherlock answered. Lestrade's face fell.

"No fucking way."

"Undoubtedly. With what, we don't know yet. Hence the run to Bart's. We had a break in the other night and believe the two are connected." John told Lestrade and the Detective Inspector looked completely out of sorts.

"Why the hell didn't you phone me?!"

"Because we were going to handle the situation ourselves." Sherlock was quickly growing tired of the back and forth. "So, if you wouldn't mind, please watch the flat and my wife and child while we are gone? Shouldn't take longer than an hour."

Mrs. Hudson stood by with worry lining her face. John gave her a quick hug and mumbled something about caring for the baby while they were gone as Molly was not doing as well that evening. She patted his hand reassuringly and with a glance the two men left the flat and proceeded to the lab to find out exactly what it was they were dealing with.

Molly felt the presence even before she attempted to open her heavy eyes. She felt the presence of a man rounding the bed, although he didn't feel close. Am I dreaming? Molly wondered to herself. She fluttered open her eyes, finding it a tad easier than it had been in previous dreams to do so. She saw nothing but the darkness of the bedroom and the outline of what stood within it.

The darkened silhouette of a man in a suit stood watching over the crib that was in the corner of the room. Her eyes widened a bit, noting that the man was the man from her supposive dream and not John or Sherlock or anyone else she really recognized. She opened her mouth but found that no sound came out. She felt the tendrils of panic forming deep within her and spreading throughout her body, taking hold of her from the inside out and charging her with fear. The man was leaning now, as if he meant to pick up Abigail and Molly could only beg from within her mind for the figure not to do so. Don't touch my baby! Don't take my daughter from me! Anger mingled with the terror and heightened every sense. The man seemed to hear her silent plea and stood up straight, turning to walk towards the bedside once more.

Molly's eyes gazed wide up into the face of a figure she had met many times before. "Molly dear, it seems your husband and his companion have figured out my punch line." The voice was laced with amusement and Molly's brow creased in anger. She wanted nothing more but to scream at the man, to rise up and wrap her clammy hands about his neck and squeeze. "I suppose we're just going to have to speed up the process. Sorry about this love, but it'll be a lot less painful than what you've experienced so far. Call it a mercy killing." The man was moving within his suit pocket. Molly's eyes widened in fear and pain as she felt the needle stab her neck and the burning of whatever was within seeping into her tissue and veins.

All sound and sense was fading. Molly glanced once more towards the crib, towards her child. Her last fleeting thoughts were to be of beautiful Abigail and the plea that the suited man would leave her alone. That Sherlock or John would come in and see that something was wrong and rescue them or at least do something with the man that had just injected her with something.

Gunfire lit up the area towards the door that lead to the rest of the flat. The man beside her pulled out the syringe, dropping it in the floor, and fell backwards. Molly's eyes noted the strong figure of Lestrade as he entered the room, yelling something that was incoherent at the man he'd just fired at and then running through the room. Muffled crying of a child. The shots must have definitely frightened Abigail. Molly could think nothing more as the world went black.

"Just as I thought." Sherlock sat back, somewhat defeated as he noted the lab results upon the screen in Molly's lab. "Molly's been slowly poisoned with a mixture of a chemical compound I've not seen before." Sherlock pointed this out to John. He was usually good about reading labs, being a doctor and all, but these results baffled him.

"It shows elevated levels of mercury poisoning, but what is the other three chemicals there?" John asked.

Sherlock could only shake his head and steeple his hands under his chin. "We need to get these results over to her doctor to see if this is a cause for her illness. I could almost bet that it is." Sherlock leaned forward and rubbed his eyes. "I hope it is."

John's phone buzzed in his pocket. He glanced at it, noting the number, and his face fell. Sherlock noticed. "It's Lestrade." He answered. "Hello? Yes. Really? My God..." John's face paled. Sherlock stood up so suddenly that the chair fell backwards and clanged noisily across the floor. "You've called the ambulance? Alright. We'll be here." John hung up and hung his head. "Someone entered the flat and attacked Molly. He's called for the ambulance."

"Why's he called for an ambulance?" Sherlock asked, his eyes racing back and forth as they studied John's face and reactions.

"She's not breathing well, Sherlock." John gulped and fought back his own sadness that was deep within him and eating at him to escape. Sherlock took off, John quickly following him, as he made his way down to the ambulance bay. "What are you doing, Sherlock?"

Sherlock grabbed the nearest medical worker as they raced towards their ambulance. "Are you responding to a call at 221B Baker Street?" He shook the man. "Tell me!"

"Yes, what the-" The man became angry as he tried to loose himself from Sherlock's grip.

"We're going with you. That's our flat and that's my wife." Sherlock growled as they climbed into the back of the ambulance. The man didn't argue, only climbed in and directed his partner towards the address.


	30. Chapter 30

Sherlock wasted no time in exiting the ambulance as soon as it reached 221B BakerStreet. John feared he'd tuck and roll out the back of the ambulance doors if it hadn't been for the medical worker riding along with them. John followed the long legged consulting detective as he raced into the flat and up the stairs to the bedroom. He was only momentarily startled at the view of Lestrade locking lips with his wife as she lay prostrate and pale upon the bed. It took him seconds to realize that the Detective Inspector was attempting to resuscitate her.

John joined them as he topped the stairs, quickly jumping in and taking over for a breathless Lestrade. Sherlock glanced around frantically. "Where is Abigail?" He questioned loudly. Lestrade first pointed, as he struggled to catch his breath.

"Mrs. Hudson has her downstairs." Lestrade was finally able to state. Sherlock felt a cold wash of relief flood him. He turned his attention back towards his wife. John was trying his best but from the strained and emotional look upon his face, the results were not to his liking. Sherlock came around the side of the bed and pushed the army doctor out of the way. John allowed it and stood off to the side fighting back tears.

The medical workers entered the room, working to set up their equipment as Sherlock resumed the CPR. When told to step back and allow them to take their turn Sherlock only shouted at them to "Stand back, damn it!" And he continued on. He blew breaths into her lungs, he compressed her already fragile chest and nearly felt the world come out from underneath him at the sound of her ribs cracking under the pressure. Yet he continued, not allowing his wife to slip away from him in such a way.

In a last ditch effort Sherlock pounded hard against her heart and felt across her in a sob. He cared not that the people who stood by awkwardly within the room were watching him. He cried, allowing the heated tears to sting his cheeks. Suddenly, from within the broken and fragile rib cage Sherlock glimpsed the faintest of heartbeats. He stood up and breathed another few breaths into her pale lips. John stepped forward and took hold of her wrist. He looked up in surprise and relief. "Sherlock!"

Sherlock halted and rested a hand upon her chest, noting the shallow rise and fall. "She's breathing!" Sherlock wiped the tears from his cheeks as he said the words, reassuring to himself that it was indeed the truth. He glanced up as the two medical workers stepped in to take over her care. He stumbled back and Lestrade met him to steady him.

"Sit down." Lestrade whispered to him and led him to the chair beside the empty crib. He wiped the rest of the tears from his cheeks and glanced into the empty crib. "Abigail is fine. Don't worry. Focus on Molly. They're going to take good care of her." Lestrade reassured him.

Sherlock said and did little else until Molly was loaded up onto the stretcher, stabilized, and in the ambulance racing towards her former place of employment. Lestrade stayed with him, John rode with Molly, if nothing else than to reassure Sherlock that she was in good hands and safe.

"Tell me what happened." Sherlock stood, once more his solemn and serious self, void of all emotion.

"I heard someone within the room and when I entered..." Lestrade swallowed hard. "You're not going to believe me Sherlock but I swear to God.."

"Just tell me!" Sherlock yelled, quite upset but not meaning to take it out on his friend.

"There was a man in a suit standing over Molly and injecting something into her neck I believe..." Lestrade took a moment. "I fired at him, and somehow I was able to wound him, but he got away. I turned my attention immediately on Molly then. Abigail was never touched." Lestrade finished.

Sherlock bent and looked under the bed for any clue and was able to locate the half empty syringe underneath the nightstand. He held it up to the light and studied it before dropping it into the empty glass on the bedside and gathering it as evidence to take to the hospital with him. He turned to Lestrade and took hold of his worried gaze. "Do you know the man in the suit, Lestrade?"

"I said you wouldn't believe me if I told you." Lestrade was hesitant to say more, and Sherlock couldn't place the reason why. "But I have to say because you'll just beat it out of me with the look you're giving me." Lestrade gulped once more, his throat dry and scratchy with confusion and the sudden rush of adrenaline he'd experienced not but half an hour ago. "It was your brother, Sherlock. It was Mycroft."

John sat in the Intensive Care Unit of St. Bartholomew's Hospital, exhausted but carefully watching over Molly Holmes as she lay in the bed hooked up to life support and unconscious to the world. John wondered if she was dreaming, and if she was, what about. he hoped they were happy dreams and not last moments of terror relived.

Sherlock and Lestrade entered silently. John said nothing to them, only rubbed his chin in though as Sherlock pulled up a chair next to Molly's bed and took his vigil. Lestrade strode over to John. "We've been analyzing the contents of the syringe in the lab. Turns out it was a mixture of phenobarbital and more of that chemical compound that's unfounded. It appears her attacker intended to kill her tonight and my entering interrupted it." Lestrade appeared defeated.

"I can't believe-" John started. "You're absolutely 100% sure that it was...?" John dared not say his name, not in front of Sherlock and not at this time.

"Absolutely, John. I have worked with him for years off and on, I know him when I see him." Lestrade shrugged. "Why he was the one doing it, I don't know. We've got all units out looking for him, and we've notified the Guard as well as the Queen's Service."

"You did good, Lestrade. Really you did and we are very grateful for you having been there." John offered his hand and Lestrade shook it.

"I'll leave you to it. I'll keep you updated." Lestrade finished before silently exiting the room. John left Sherlock to his thoughts momentarily before approaching the subject.

"I spoke to Molly's doctor. He's going to run some tests with the chemical compounds we've discovered, but he says it is definitely a possibility that what Molly was ingesting is the cause of her tumor as well as the lesions." John knew that despite the news, it was a good thing to know that Molly could probably be cured. If she pulled through her current situation.

"How is she now?" Sherlock sounded choked up and John couldn't blame him. He turned and looked at John with reddened teary eyes and John could sense the heartbreak within him.

"She's slipped into a coma." John stated matter-of-factly. "The doctors are unsure of what damage she's sustained due to the drugging as well as her coding, so she's in a medically induced coma for the time being until her scans and bloodwork come back." Sherlock turned back to look at her. So inhumane it seemed to have her hooked up with so many tubes and hoses. Sherlock understood it was keeping her alive, but it looked and felt so cruel to keep her body in such a state. He would never forgive himself for the cracking of her ribs, even though John told him that was a common occurrence during resuscitation. He felt he'd been too rough with her, and he touched her lightly as if he feared he'd hurt her more by merely doing so.

"When I find my brother." Sherlock began with his voice deep, sadistic, and gutteral within his throat. John sensed the violence that edged and lined that voice and was put on edge. "I'll make him suffer."

"Sherlock-" John started, trying to think of the words to say.

"No. Don't start. I mean to deal with him myself. Lestrade can handle what's left." Sherlock was pained. He felt betrayed, that his own blood would harm an innocent woman. He didn't understand how someone, especially his brother, would do something to someone that meant little to him before Molly's condition had reared its ugly head. There was no rhyme or reason to his actions.

John silenced himself and went back to sit. He collapsed deep into thought as Sherlock took hold of Molly's hand and set to deducing where his brother could be and what would be done with him when found.


	31. Chapter 31

There was only blackness. Nothing else. No shred or hint of light. Molly tried desperately to open her eyes to the blackness but she could not will herself to do so. She was lost and alone in this ebony sea of loneliness.

Sometimes she dreamt. Mostly of times working cases with Sherlock and John, sometimes of intimacy between her husband and herself, and if she could say for sure daily, she would about Abigail. Molly had lost all sense of space and time within the black expanse that was her reality now.

She couldn't exactly remember what had happened. In her last moments, she had realized that what she had thought was an almost nightly dream was actually reality. She had glanced about the room sleepily to note her own brother-in-law, Mycroft Holmes glancing in on her baby girl as she lay sleeping in her crib and then speaking to her before injecting something into her neck. There had been gunshots...then nothingness. She had gone through various phases of acceptance within this void. First terror and fear, then denial, that this too was just a drug induced dream that would eventually wear off and everything would be as it was. Anger, at her own brother-in-law for being the one that had caused her to fall into the abyss of blackness, and just recently acceptance. It did not mean she wasn't frightened, as she most certainly was. She feared she would lose her sanity within her prison.

Am I dead? Is this what the afterlife is? An expanse of nothingness and loneliness and confusion...Molly feared it was true. What if what Mycroft had done to her killed her? What was happening there in the world? Abigail would be minus a mother, which wrenched poor Molly's heart. Sherlock would perhaps be holding his own for a while, with the help of John, but he would eventually cave as well, Molly was almost sure of it. He'd had his minor meltdowns and withdrawals from her love and her need of him, but this would be the end all be all of that. He'd have to care for Abigail without her there to share in her moments. If Molly could have cried in her current state she would have been irreconcilable at that moment.

John would most definitely look after the both of them, she could count on him for that. But she wanted to be there, to live her moments with Abigail and Sherlock and share in their lives which shown so brightly. Instead she was void of all stimulus. I must be dead. There will be no way to tell Sherlock who did this. Sure, I was terminally ill, but to know that his own brother was the one to do me in and not be able to warn anyone of it is so very unfair. Molly felt the anger once more. How long would this go on? She needed some kind of solace. Surely if this was death, there would be God or worse off the other...but she saw signs of neither. Please God, if you're there, let me know what's going on. Please don't leave me in the dark...

At that moment, Molly heard a faint voice through the void, speaking to another deeper voice. John?! Sherlock?! Oh thank you, God! Molly was joyful just being able to hear something besides her own thoughts within whatever it was that she was trapped within.

"Any word?" John asked.

"No, I'm not able to reach him and neither are his personnel. He's gone into hiding and if anyone can disappear and not want to be found, it's my brother." Sherlock answered. His voice was smooth and deep and caused Molly to shudder to herself. Do they know?!

"That may be true, but he has to surface sometime, Sherlock. I just don't understand why he would be doing this." John sighed. Molly could hear him pacing about the room.

"I don't either. He paid for the entire wedding and the honeymoon, he seemed eerily cheerful that I had actually proposed to a girl and he seemed to not mind it being Molly. I'm most certain he was overjoyed it wasn't a woman like Irene." Sherlock seemed to be thinking to himself. I'm the girl and Irene's the woman?! We'll have to discuss that if I ever get out of, well, wherever. Molly seethed. "Any word of Molly's condition?" Sherlock was close beside her now, she could hear him almost as if he were in her ear. Suddenly there was a sensation of touch to her hand. Molly wanted to cry out to him, but found no way to do so.

"The doctor ran his tests and compared them to your lab values. He said it is almost a certainty that the chemical compound in the glass has built up to a level within her that it could have caused the tumor as well as the lesions. He says Molly was probably receptible to the growth of the lesions, they only needed something to spur them into action." John was pacing near the opposite side of her. She wished to reach out and touch him, but knew she couldn't.

"So, she was a carrier for the brain lesions but they needed something to catalyse?" Sherlock asked, still close to her ear. Oh my, so Mycroft was causing me to have the cancer?! Molly was in shock. She had never suspected this had been the cause of her problem.

"Precisely. Without ingesting the compound over and over for who knows what length of time, Molly would have remained lesion free." John sounded solemn. Molly was furious. How dare someone interrupt her life and her welfare for any reason?

"Does the doctor think she will awaken from the coma?" Sherlock asked. Thank God! I'm not dead! I'm in a coma, but I'm still alive. That would explain why I can hear them at least... Molly was trying to find the silver lining in her current situation, and she felt much less afraid than she had previously.

"He is unsure. He can still operate, but he is leaving that decision up to you since you are her Power of Attorney. He isn't entirely sure it will bring her out of the coma to remove the tumor, but it is a possibility." John answered.

"Damn it." Sherlock huffed. Molly knew the decision would be a hard one. Sherlock had told her many times that he wanted no part in deciding something life and death for her. She had practically forced the living will and the power of attorney upon him to protect herself. "That will be a decision for another night."

"I understand. Do you need anything? I'm going to pop over for our takeout and bring some by for Mrs. Hudson. She's been up all night with Abigail and I feel perhaps I should take a shift." John inquired. Bless her... Molly felt overwhelming love and emotion for their landlady. Always there to help without any complaint.

"No. I believe I'll be fine here until you return. I'll try to come over and take Abigail for a while tomorrow to give her a break." Sherlock sounded tired.

"She understands, Sherlock. You've got both of us for anything you need." John was nearer to Sherlock's voice now. Perhaps with a reassuring pat on the shoulder.

"I do thank you, John." Sherlock sounded a bit overwhelmed with emotion, which Molly knew was a rarity. "The both of you. I can never repay you..."

"You don't have to. We will get to the bottom of this, and we'll get through this somehow. Together." Sensation of warmth upon Molly's cheek surprised her. "Goodnight, Molly love. Sleep well." John said before the voice faded away. Surely he had left the room. Besides the sensation on her hand, Molly wasn't entire sure that Sherlock wasn't still present.

"I'll find him, love." Sherlock whispered into her ear and she sighed mentally to herself with relief. He hadn't left. Why had she thought he would? "I'll find that bastard of a brother and I'll bring him to justice for what he's done to you. I refuse to send you under the knife once more unless I need to, so no worries. If you can even hear me." Sherlock sounded as if he's sat back up and perhaps in a chair beside her. He was quiet but the sensation of touch to her hand remained. Oh how I wish I could tell him how much I love him. Molly longed to pull herself from the darkness and tell him so. She would not take the ability to hear and sense things around her for granted by any means, despite how much she longed to break her silence.

A phone chimed away within Sherlock's pocket from the sound of it. She heard him rustle about in his jacket pocket and answer. "Hello? Who is this?" Sherlock's voice then took on the unmistakable lilt of one hellbent on murderous intentions. "Mycroft."


	32. Chapter 32

Sherlock rode in silence on his way to meet his brother. He rode with a straight pin line for a frown and a look of seering loathing in his eyes. He had been upset before many times in his life. Hell, even daily. But not a single time had he felt the heated hate that burned deep within him as it did now. He moved his fingers over within his coat pocket and touched the cold metal of the firearm that sat tightly within the belt of his trousers. He'd use it, but only after he caused a little pain and suffering in the name of his wife first.

Mycroft had given him an address and instructions to come alone. Sherlock had agreed, wanting nothing more than to have the first swing at his own brother for doing what he was doing to Molly. John had protested, but Sherlock had convinced him he was need more to help protect his daughter, Mrs. Hudson, and most of all Molly in case this was a ruse to get them away from his loved ones in an attempt to finish them off. Sherlock would not have it. Mycroft had at one time the entire British government in his possession to deal with as he pleased. No longer did he have that honor, after it was discovered that he was behind the deeds that were being done. 

Sherlock had taken a cab to the old cabin that their parents had once owned. Mum now was too old to keep the place up, father didn't seem to care about it any longer. As the cab approached the long driveway towards the old building, Sherlock's pulse quickened and his blood boiled. He paid the cabbie and stepped out, heading towards the cabin with great intent. As he approached he noted that the cabin was in good form, despite his parents' lack of interest in it over the past decade or so. Has Mycroft been keeping it up? Just to hide out in? Sherlock wondered to himself. He stepped up onto the wooden porch and entered the unlocked door with little presentation.  
He noted nothing of interest upon entering, except for the sheets thrown over the furniture and the thick layer of dust that had rested upon every surface. He rounded the corner into the living room and there he found his dear brother, sitting in an arm chair within the darkness of the room. Sherlock drew his firearm and trained it steadily upon the figure of Mycroft. "Good, you came."

"Of course I came, you bastard. I'm going to be able to deal with you as I please in response to your treatment of my wife." Sherlock stated through gritted teeth. It was rare that he lost his temper in times such as these. Even when he'd first come upon Moriarty in the pool he'd been calm and clever. At this moment scenes of blasting away at his brother were playing out within his mind. He tried to concentrate. 

"Perhaps you'd like an explanation as to why we are in this predicament together first, dear brother?" Mycroft stated in his usual matter-of-fact tone. Sherlock hinted the exhaustion in his voice. Exhaustion or sickness? Sherlock tried not to falter. He couldn't make out the features of his brother's face due to the contrast of light and dark within the room, and Sherlock held back to want to squint and try to deduce correctly.   
"Let's have it and make it quick." Sherlock continued. He continued to hold his tense stance with the firearm trained on Mycroft. Mycroft sighed.

"The reason I was doing this to Molly was because I was being forced to by Moriarty." Mycroft began, a hint of embarrassement within his voice. "You don't realize how much jeopardy we are all in, Sherlock."

"How are we all included if you were targeting Molly? I wasn't even with her when she first became sick!" Sherlock started, his anger seething once more as he remembered back to when he'd first found out that Molly was ill. How his heart ached...

"You've been poisoned, Sherlock. You, me, and John. You don't really think that Molly was the only one did you?" Mycroft tilted his head slightly to the side. Sherlock hesitated. "Yes, the both of you. For some reason I do think that you and John are somewhat immune the the chemical compound that Moriarty was feeding you both. You've all had the same amount that Molly has had, but neither you nor John have exhibited symptoms." Mycroft stated.

"You're lying." Sherlock spat.

"No, brother, I'm not. John was clever when he discovered the glass and the medication. You see how late in the game you caught on? This has been going on for months! Rest assured no one has tried to harm Abigail-"

"Don't you dare speak her name!" Sherlock's voice was laced with hate and venom.

"Merely stating that I would never harm my own niece or any child for that matter." Mycroft sighed again, as if trying to speak to his own brother was trying or boring. Or both. "As I was saying, we have all been poisoned, myself included. And the only way that Moriarty would give me the means of saving ourselves from a sure death was if I continued to try and harm you through Molly."

"That is no excuse to do something so sickening, Mycroft." Sherlock felt horrified. Is this why his brother would not show his face? From shame? From sickness? "Are you effected?"

"Yes. It would seem that I've become terribly ill as well. Moriarty ordered Molly's execution the night Lestrade fired at me while in the bedroom. He knew that you were about to uncover the truth and I feared he would not reveal the antidote to our poisoning if I did not follow through." Mycroft answered.  
"How badly are you effected?" Sherlock inquired.

"It would seem I've recently lost the use of my legs. I'm becoming slowly paralyzed from the feet up. If I don't receive the antidote soon, I fear I'll be completely unable to fend for myself before week's end." Mycroft sounded fearful. Sherlock couldn't blame him. If he was speaking the truth it would be most definitely something to be scared of. "It would seem that Moriarty's synthesized chemical compound prays on genetics, making what lies within your genetic code and that your susceptible to a reality over a lengthy period of being regularly dosed."

"Are you saying that we have a nervous or muscular disorder that runs in the family?" Sherlock questioned, curious.

"Something along the lines of muscular dystrophy it would seem." Mycroft sighed once more. Sherlock felt a pang of sorrow for his brother, despite the situation they were in. If he were really being threatened by Moriarty, then Sherlock surely could not hold him to too much blame, could he? 

"Do you have proof?" Sherlock asked, lowering the firearm slightly. 

"Yes. The manilla envelope on the table over there. All of my recent bloodwork, records, and genetic history for you to look through." Mycroft moved, reaching over towards the table to down the rest of the whiskey he had in the glass beside him and sit back in the chair. "I'd rise to get another whiskey but I'm afraid I can't do that. I've been having to crawl about this damnedable cabin for the last two days. Otherwise I'd be comfortably within the bed upstairs. I'm so bloody tired..." Mycroft ran a hand across his forehead. Sherlock meandered over towards the envelope, lowering the gun only long enough to look through the collection of papers within. The proof was there. His brother had a most rare form of muscular disease. He would be catatonic and completely unable to move within a matter of days if it continued on the way it had. Sherlock was suddenly fearful, his mouth and throat cotton. What would have happened to John? To me? The meaning of life and thoughts of doom and mortality plagued him momentarily.  
"Fine, brother. What is it that we need to do to convince Moriarty that you've succeeded?" Sherlock asked.

"I believe I would have to find my way into the hospital to somehow remove Molly from life support and prove that I'd carried out my orders." Mycroft gulped audibly. "Not for real, mind you. You're a genius, especially to my sub par, so you'll think of a way to fake it and make it look convincing."

"Is there no other way?" Sherlock asked, softly, putting away the firearm. 

"Unless you can discover the antidote on our own, I fear not." Mycroft answered.

"Then so be it." Sherlock grabbed the glass bottle from the table next to the envelope and carried it over to fill up his brother's glass. "Although I do believe you'll have to do much to repay the damage you've caused my Molly."

"It will be done, Sherlock. I swear it. I love that poor girl and it pains me to have done the things I've done. Please forgive me." Mycroft sounded strained, as though trying to compress his emotions as he spoke.

"A discussion for another time." Sherlock pulled out his phone and dialed John.


	33. Chapter 33

Sherlock entered the door to Molly's intensive care unit room carefully and walked inside. John stood to meet him. John's brow furrowed in concern as he noted the state Sherlock was in. "Everything okay? Dear God, have you been up this entire time?!" John asked, knowing full well what the answer would be.

Sherlock shook his head disapprovingly. He looked exhausted, a ragged look to his face, his posture was slumped. "I've been up since I returned from meeting my brother, John. You know full well I wouldn't have been able to sleep without finishing my work." He took a deep breath and glanced over at Molly as she lay comatose in the hospital bed. "Have you made all of the arrangements?"

John nodded, but a frown remained upon his face. "Yes. I've taken care of everything with the hospital staff. Are you sure this is the way we should proceed, Sherlock? Are you even sure it's going to work?" John studied Sherlock's worry ridden face for an answer. He found little there to go on.

"Yes. I'm positive of it. If Moriarty indeed is behind this and is the cause, than we will be able to discover the answer when he gives Mycroft the supposive "cure". It's a waiting game." John took hold of his shoulder and brought him surprisingly into a tight hug. "It's going to be fine, John. It has to be done."

"You're sure she's going to come out of this?" John asked. Sherlock nodded but his face didn't change. John didn't know what to think. "I'll wait for you down in the cab." John gathered his coat, leaned over to give Molly a loving kiss on the forehead as he did so, and left the room hastily. Sherlock took his time, walking over to Molly's bed and sitting on the edge of it. He glanced down at his wife as she lay, seemingly unaware of her surroundings or current predicament.

"Things are going to be just fine, love." Sherlock muttered but his voice cracked and betrayed him as he lay across the bed and rested his forehead against Molly's. She still felt warm, lively, but unable to respond. How he wished she would reach up and run her slender fingers through his hair and whisper into his ear how much she loved him. That she trusted him. It was risky to gamble with your wife's life. Especially when it came to Moriarty. He had no other choice. He brought the syringe and needle out of his coat pocket and stuck the needle into Molly's skin quickly and without notice. She didn't flinch, did not react, although he had not entirely expected her to. He had done it quickly so as not to find himself at fault for thinking twice. He returned the contents to his pocket and watched. Nothing happened, no allergice reaction. He sighed with a tiny bit of relief. He didn't want to harm her. It was all just a trick. A magic trick. He embraced her as she lay upon the bed and held her to him. "I'll see you soon, love. If you can hear me, don't panic. Just know it's all a magic trick." He laid kisses upon her and one last kiss upon her lips. "I love you with my whole heart." He released her and wiped the few tears that had managed to eek out of his blue green eyes and swiftly gathered himself to leave the room.

Molly had wanted nothing more than to reach up and embrace her husband as he held her close, but knew she could not. The darkness was still enveloping her, but his warm, deep voice soothed her and kept her sane. She had heard the two of them talking earlier, but she had a hard time making out what it was that was being said, as the two men were talking low and far away. Where have they gone to? She wasn't entire sure she liked the pin prick she'd felt either while Sherlock was giving her affection, but she had been having strange sensations all throughout her body since she'd become aware that she wasn't dead. She figured it was a figment of her physical imagination. Like a phantom pain. She heard what must have been a door opening and shutting. Ah, there they are. She felt her psyche smile, if you could call it that. There really wasn't an embodiment of her emotions other than how she could describe them now.

She waited for Sherlock to speak to her, or John. Sometimes John would enter and carry on entire one sided conversations with her as though she were just mute and not in a coma. She enjoyed his jokes, his rants about Sherlock, and his check ins on Abigail. She was so thankful that the landlady had kindly stepped in to help with the raising of her daughter. Although she was sure that Sherlock would manage just fine. She heard what sounded like a cart being pushed close to her. "Molly, dear." If Molly could have panicked and screamed at that moment in time she would have. Mycroft's voice was all too familiar to her. Sherlock! John! Why can't I wake up?! Why is he here?! "I'm so very sorry, sister-in-law. Things have to end, as they were suppose to a few days ago before your damned Lestrade had to fire in at me. Now I can finish this as it was intended to be finished." Molly felt a pause, a tension within the air. Then a pin prick much like the one she felt before.

Molly wanted to thrash, to run, to punch Mycroft, to scream, to cry, to threaten Mycroft within an inch of his life. She was entirely helpless. The darkness was the remainder of all she had. She noticed that the sounds of the room she lay in began to seep and change and weave in and out of her dark consciousness. He's done it. I'm dying. It isn't fair, it isn't... Molly's thought process ceased to exist past this line of thought a few seconds later.

Mycroft allowed one of his dark suited employees to push him inside the confines of Speedy's Cafe. John and Sherlock sat in the back corner, hidden from the large windowed walls of the cafe as it faced the street. Sherlock glanced up, nervously rolling his hands about, an unusual gesture for the consulting detective, although not all that surprising considering their current situation. John noted that when it came to Molly, there seemed to be an entirely different set of rules that applied. "It is done." Mycroft stated with a frown.

"You injected her with the chemical precisely as I instructed you to?" Sherlock growled. John glanced at him. He was clammy and pale and shaking. John figured he was barely holding himself together. "Where is Moriarty's syringe?"

Mycroft removed the two syringes from his jacket pocket and placed them in front of Sherlock and John. One was a regular looking syringe with a clear fluid within it. The other was empty, and marked around the end with the markings Sherlock had applied to it. Sherlock studied them indiscriminately. "Just as you said."

"And?" Sherlock demanded.

"Within 30 seconds her vitals crashed and as I was wheeling myself down the hall they rushed to resucitate her." Mycroft swallowed hard. John believed this was the look of a man who wasn't entire sure what he had just done. It wasn't one of happiness at perhaps succeeding at what he had been set out to accomplish.

"You aren't sure then?" Sherlock gave his brother an exasperated look.

"Sherlock, you couldn't expect me to stick around with the evidence on me while she crashed." Mycroft's eyes widened.

"No, no. It's alright, Mycroft. We should find out soon enough if the plan succeeded or not." John butted in to try and calm the two brothers. The three sat in silence for a minute. Sherlock's phone began to ring. He paled, worse than before. John feared he may pass smooth out in the booth. Sherlock only masked his face of emotion and answered the phone.

"This is Sherlock Holmes. Yes? Are you sure? I'll be right there." Sherlock hung up the phone, placing it calmly within his jacket pocket. "It would seem you succeeded, brother." Sherlock slammed his fists upon the table, causing both men to jump.

"I did as you asked, Sherlock. Are you not confident in your configuration of the plan?" Mycroft questioned. Sherlock glared at him.

"I know it will work. But do you expect me to be gleeful finding that they suspect my wife to be dead?" Sherlock was shaking all over. He removed himself from table and stormed out of the cafe, much to the surprise of the fellow Speedy customers. Mycroft looked pale himself.

"It's going to all go as planned, Mycroft. When it comes to Molly Sherlock would not fail her. He loves her too much. To lose her would break him, and I believe he is correct in his assumption that the chemicals you two mixed within her will give the mask of death until we revive her prior to the funeral." John stated. Mycroft merely nodded, at a lose for words. "I suggest you go and get some rest. Notify us when Moriarty has contacted you and if you've received the antidote."

"Quite right, John. Afternoon." Mycroft nodded to him and motioned to the dark suit behind him, who promptly ushered him out and into a black government car to be driven away to whatever destination. John started out of the cafe and up the stairs of 221B Baker Street. He knew not what state he would find his flatmate him, but he assured himself that the next 48 hours would be long and tedious. Especially for Sherlock. Genius though, mixing two separate chemical compounds that Sherlock synthesized inside her as to give her the illusion of death. Much like the medicine men of Haiti and their zombiism. Only time will tell if Moriarty completely bought it. John sighed as he heard the hungry cry of a little girl within the flat ahead and Mrs. Hudson's coddling along with it.


	34. Chapter 34

Sherlock stormed through the doors to St. Bartholomew's morgue, John quickly in tow behind him. "You're absolutely sure he's received it?" Sherlock's deep voice boomed.

"Yes, he said so when he phoned." John answered. He was nervous. Adrenaline was coursing through both of the young men's veins. The next few minutes would be very telling. If not longer.

Sherlock and John rounded the corner to find Mycroft and his black suited chauffer sitting beside the draped body upon the slab. Sherlock glanced longingly at the white silhouette momentarily before returning his attention to his brother. "Well?" He asked, rather impatiently.

Mycroft removed the syringe and the envelope that had accompanied it and handed it to Sherlock. "It arrived just this morning, as it was said it would. I imagine you're going to test it first?"

"Yes. Wait here." Sherlock was gone before either of the remaining men could say anything. John glanced back. Mycroft was still seated in his wheelchair.

"Has it worsened?" John asked. Mycroft sighed.

"Unfortunately, yes. In only the course of the last 48 hours its began a tremor and weakness within my arms. I fear if Sherlock doesn't figure this out soon, I'll be completely quadraplegic by tomorrow morning." Mycroft swallowed hard. John could not the fear in his voice.

"Sherlock will figure this out." John did not smile. He was solemn. He was torn within. Mycroft nodded to him, he nodded back. An understanding, if not an unspoken one. Today was going to entirely the wrong way for Sherlock, even if he didn't know it yet. John and Mycroft were prepared for whatever were to come.

Sherlock re-entered the morgue within the course of an hour and a half. He carried with him two syringes and a look of excitement upon his handsome face. A look the two men knew all too well. He was pleased with himself and entirely too sure. "It was not a ruse, Mycroft. It is indeed an antidote. It contains the antibodies needed to reverse your condition. I've saved enough of it to synthesize an antidote for Molly as well." Sherlock motioned for Mycroft to roll up his sleeve, and the older brother gladly and hastily did so. Sherlock injected him and disposed of the syringe. "It should begin to work over the next 24 to 48 hours. You will begin to see the results." Sherlock slapped Mycroft on the back triumphantly and turned to his closest companion. "Are we ready, John?"

"Yes, I've got it right here." John held up his own syringe. The syringe that would contain the correct combination of chemicals to reverse the illusion of fake death. The mixture of chemicals that would have slowed the heart rate, the metabolism, the respirations to nearly undetectable levels.

"Well, go on then." Sherlock smiled at John. John turned and unceremoniously undraped Molly from her head to her abdomen. Sherlock came around the opposite side and took hold of her hand. He frowned momentarily, as her hand was cold and lifeless as any corpse would be. John injected the solution into her arm and stood back. "Shouldn't take long?"

"Perhaps a minute or two." John answered. He tried to sound chipper but couldn't bring himself to muster the energy to do so. Sherlock watched, waiting for the significant rise and fall of the chest. He didn't expect that Molly would completely come through and out of the coma, but the vital signs would improve and the illusion of death would be lifted.

Moments passed.

Minutes passed.

Sherlock's hopeful smile faltered. He checked her pulse. Non-existent. He lowered his ear to her chest, but noted no rise or fall of her bosom. Sherlock paled. "John?"

John sighed deeply and stepped forward, taking a blood pressure cuff to check. He listened. He looked up at Sherlock and shook his head sadly. "I'm- I'm sorry, Sherlock...I don't know what to say..." John let his voice fade away as he backed away from the table and the body of Molly as it lay upon it.

Sherlock gazed at Molly's pale, somber face. "No." He bite his lower lip and began to shake his head erratically back and forth. "I don't believe it. It worked. It had to have worked. I had the equations and doses right-" He frantically continued to search for her pulse, her heartbeat, he rested his head against her chest. "No, no, no, no, no...NO!" Sherlock stood back and screamed, chest heaving, looking at John and Mycroft as they watched the scene unfold. "She can't be-" Sherlock ran his fingers through his hair, grabbing at curls and pulling them to the point of pain. "I- I killed her, John."

"Sherlock..." John stepped forward to place a comforting hand on Sherlock's arm but he pulled violently away. John could see the tears rising within his blue-green eyes. "You didn't kill her."

"I gave her the fucking injection! I killed her!" Sherlock was screaming and he didn't care who heard or didn't hear. Mycroft looked away, sadness filling the lines in his face. "I killed my wife! If I hadn't the bloody cancer Moriarty fucking gave her would have but for godsake..." Sherlock closed his eyes, running his hands over his face. He was in shock. He had it right, he knew he did. Something had gone wrong. Something had given out within his Molly and now he was alone.

John said nothing, only dropped his hand and frowned. He kept quiet. No amount of convincing at this very moment would comfort his friend. Mourning and grieving were the only things he could feel now.

Sherlock took hold of Molly's hand once more. "Go, just go. Leave us!" Sherlock growled and glared at the two men within the room. Mycroft's chauffer took hold of his wheelchair and wheeled him out of the room. John stayed a moment longer until Sherlock screamed at him "Get out!" and he obeyed. He glimpsed the first muffled choked back sobs as he exited the morgue.

Sherlock brushed the limp locks of hair out of Molly's face. The tears were coming, hot and stinging as they fell down his cheeks. "I'm so sorry, love. I took what life you had left from you. It was going to work, I swear it." He allowed the tears to come now, alone with the body of his beloved within the confines of her workplace. Where she loved to spend her days, with him, even before he'd taken any notice of her. He lay across her body, covered only in the crisp whiteness of the morgue sheet and sobbed as his heart wrenched within his chest. "You've left me. I'm all alone. Alone!" Sherlock whimpered as he cried into her chest. "I love you so much, angel."

The next 24 hours were all a blur to the consulting detective. Sitting in the funeral home as John worked out the details of Molly's funeral. She'd taken the liberty prior to marrying Sherlock of arranging it all, just in case. She hadn't wanted anyone to be left with any priorities regarding her passing. John remembered how he'd merely sat in the funeral home chair at the desk, staring through towards the back room where he knew Molly's body sat, waiting to be prepared for her funeral.

John and Mrs. Hudson hadn't gotten him to eat anything. John wasn't surprised. He probably would waste away himself if things didn't pick up soon. John merely awaited the moment to where Sherlock might possibly reach out to him. That moment never came.

The day of Molly's funeral was a momentous occasion. The cemetery, where Sherlock Holmes own grave had sat post Reichenbach Fall had been packed with those who came to remember her. Colleagues of St. Bartholomew's, friends and family, people she had come to meet in her daily life. Sherlock merely sat graveside beside John, staring at the beautiful bluish grey casket and the abundance of flowers that rested around it. He said nothing, felt nothing. He was numb, but not comfortably. The pain was fresh and biting. He didn't hear the kind words spoken by those who also loved her and remembered her. Mrs. Hudson had stayed near the back, not wanting the possibly cry of Abigail to upset Sherlock as he mourned for her mother. John watched his companion cautiously and concerned as he always had. Always watching, there within an arm's length to attend to his best friend when he was ready to accept it.

As the funeral attendees filed away, John and Sherlock stayed behind, staring at the casket. The gravediggers stood away, awaiting Sherlock to give his final goodbye to his wife before they lowered her into the soft earth. "One more look, Sherlock?"

"Please, John." Sherlock choked on the words. They sounded so gratingly needy, so longingly sad and forelorn. John's heart broke for him. He moved the flowers aside and lifted the casket lid once more. Molly lay inside, painted up as pretty as a picture with a slight smile upon her rosy lips. Sherlock bent and kissed her lovingly upon the forehead. "I'll see you soon, my love. I love you." He whispered to her and bent up quickly, as not to allow the tears to begin their ascent once more. He hurried quickly away and John motioned to the cemetery workers that they were free to do their job. Sherlock watched from beyond the cast iron fence as they slowly lowered his wife's body into the ground that was open to receive her.

Sherlock hadn't realized that he'd passed out upon the couch until John was shaking him. He was exhausted, mentally and physically worn down from lack of food. "What is it, John?"

"Get up. Throw on your coat." John was quickly dressing with his coat as he spoke. Sherlock sat up tiredly.

"I'm not in the mood." Sherlock somberly replied and hung his head. He glanced at the clock. Three in the morning and John was waking him? For what?

"Just do as I say, Sherlock. Damn it." He tossed Sherlock his coat and Sherlock stood to apply it, his curiousity now peaked. "There's a cab waiting downstairs." John headed down the stairs and Sherlock sleepily complied. He was too tired to argue and too tired to wallow in his own self pity for his wife's death.

The two rode in silence to St. Bartholomew's. Sherlock followed John with a furrowed brow as the man wormed his way through the lower belly of the hospital towards the morgue. "John, what the hell-"

"Shut up, Sherlock and just come with me." John stated firmly. Sherlock quieted. John led him into the back room that was the morgue and through the rooms towards the slab. A casket sat inside. It's bluish grey tint made angrier by the flourescent lights of the morgue.

"John, bloody hell." Sherlock was at a loss of words. Why had John brought Molly's casket here? Was he mad? Was there a mistake?

"Open the lid and take her pulse." John stood and watched Sherlock, who stood flabbergasted and half asleep in the blinding lights of the morgue.

"You're mad." Sherlock stated.

"Check."

Sherlock stepped forward, opening the casket and feeling for Molly's wrist. He dared not look down into the casket, for fear that his emotions would take him on a roller coaster of tears and anger once more. The guilt within him was enough to cause him to want to drink himself into oblivion or find more leisurely activities to participate in...like the good old days. He found Molly's wrist. It was unusually warm for a corpse that had been buried in the ground not ten hours or so previous. He placed his long fingers upon her wrist and felt. There, faint but definitely palpable, was a heartbeat. Sherlock's eyes widened. He turned to face John, who stood watching him like a school boy caught smoking in the bathroom. "John?"


	35. Chapter 35

Sherlock stared at John in disbelief. He kept his fingers upon Molly's wrist, feeling the steady thub dub of the blood as it course through Molly's veins of its own accord. He was in absolute shock. How can this be? She was dead. She's been clinically death for more than 48 hours. My own concoction wouldn't have been able to allow her to cling to life longer than that. His eyes never left his companion's, whose own face was painted with a look of shame. "I don't understand..."

"Well come on then. You're the consulting detective. The only one in the world. Deduce the situation." John huffed. He was clearly upset, although Sherlock figured it was probably more from guilt than from being angry his wife had survived the ordeal. "Think!"

Sherlock turned back and gazed down at Molly. Her skin was still its normal paleness, but she felt warm and alive. Her cheeks had a slight tint of pink to them. She looked almost like sleeping beauty. In a casket. In her own morgue. He slid his fingers into her hand and held it. He had watched John inject her. He'd handed him the syringe himself before hand. Mycroft's injection received from Moriarty was what he had said it would be, there was no magic trick there. Why couldn't he figure this out? John obviously had a hand in it. "I'm at a loss, John."

"Bloody fucking hell." John sighed and leaned against the cool metal table that he stood beside. He hung his head. "I'm not proud of it, I'll tell you that much. Mycroft told me it would be damn near impossible to pull it off, but I succeeded. Molly's made you soft." Here John smiled a bit, chiding with the last comment. He sighed again when he noted that Sherlock's look remained unchanged. He was truly baffled. Perhaps the entirety of the last couple of days had him mentally exhausted. He would give his genius flatmate that much.

"Mycroft knew?" Sherlock asked softly.

"Yes, but let me explain before you go off and strangle him." John started. "If we didn't fake it for longer, Sherlock, it wouldn't have been convincing." Sherlock said nothing, only held John's gaze. John continued. "Mycroft received a phone call from Moriarty the night that he injected Molly and put your plan into action. He was onto him, thinking that it was too obvious to be back in his own brother's good graces. He told Mycroft that if Molly wasn't truly dead that he wouldn't provide the injection Mycroft needed and worse things would happen in turn. Mycroft contacted me and I took the matter into my own hands." John paused. "I am a doctor, you know."

"Right." Sherlock said little, only listened, feeling out the images of these things within his own mind and piecing them together. "So you faked Molly's death for longer. How?"

"Easy, Sherlock. I treated her with a mixture of medications and your own zombie concoction to prolong the illusion of her death. When I injected her the other day in front of you there was nothing more than normal saline in that syringe."

"I handed it to you myself."

"After you were napping from exhaustion and I switched the syringes. I'm quite good at noting your handwriting as well." John smiled that half grin once more. Sherlock was beginning to understand.

"What about Mycroft? I checked the syringe that Moriarty supposively sent him. It was the correct antidote mix for what he needed." Sherlock asked. John said nothing, just looked away, not masking the pride that shown a bit on his face. "You?!" Sherlock was taken aback.

"Oy! Why's that so surprising?" John looked momentarily hurt. "I simply did some research and some vaccination knowledge I had before hand I was able to stumble across an idea. I tested it on a sample of Mycroft's blood and it worked. So I synthesized it and you gave it to him. Mycroft went along with the idea, knowing that if Moriarty saw that you were genuinely torn over Molly's death, he'd see that it wasn't fake."

"So Moriarty hasn't responded as of yet?" Sherlock asked.

"Correct. We're still waiting to hear from him. I'm doubtful he ever really meant to send Mycroft an antidote anyway." John shook his head in disgust. Knowing that Moriarty would allow one's body to kill themselves while he sat and watched made his stomach turn.

Sherlock was quite as he stared at John. He could still feel the soft warmth of Molly's skin. He glanced at her once more. I want you out of that casket, dear. He thought to himself. He released her hesitantly, as if this were all a dream, and walked towards John. John stood his ground, bowing up as his army training had ingrained in him. He wondered if Sherlock was going to punch him. He'd certainly deserved it for putting him through such emotional turmoil. Sherlock looked down at him and then, much to John's surprised, pulled him into a tight embrace. John didn't know how to react, but eventually wrapped his arms about his friend and returned the squeeze. "Thank you, John. You're so bloody brilliant." John heard the note of emotional rawness that coated those words and felt his heart surge.

"I did it for the both of you. You're my world, and my best friends. I couldn't bear for you to lose her or your brother." John stated softly. He felt guilty but at the same time triumphant that his plan had worked.

"I am so very lucky to have a best friend such as you, John Watson." Sherlock released him and smiled down at him. "And such a fantastic mind inside that seemingly useless skull. I never knew." He couldn't help but chuckle and John joined him. He looked back towards the casket. "Now, what shall we do with her? I know we must maintain the illusion of her death, but I can't bear to leave her in that casket. It's so depressing."

"Agreed. Mycroft took the liberty of securing an empty room in the wing down the hall that's used for maintenance and has secretly turned it into a fully functioning ICU unit. You'll have her cared for just as before but with Mycroft's provided supplies and doctor. No one will ever know." John stated. Sherlock's eyebrows went up, impressed.

"You and my brother have thought of everything." Sherlock strode back towards his wife and leaned in, kissing her sweetly on her cheek. "He'll hold this one over my head for a while, I'm sure."

"Oh, I believe once he takes his first steps out of that wheelchair he'll forget to hold anything to high over that head of yours." John replied. Sherlock chuckled once more. His world, just twenty minutes ago burned, crushed, disheveled was now right once more.


	36. Chapter 36

Molly's eyes fluttered open. She was laying, absolutely still within her hospital bed. She found that she couldn't move, only her eyes seemed to obey her mental commands. She looked about, noting the sounds of the hospital about her and outside her ICU door. She managed to strain her eyes enough to note her husband laying in the bed with her in his suit, the jacket thrown casually over the chair next to the door. His arm was wrapped about her waist underneath the thick green blanket. She could feel the warmth of his skin even through the hospital gown that covered her. Her heart was overjoyed at the sight of him. Through everything he is still here, still waiting for me to wake up and come out of this coma.

Molly willed herself to move, finding that nothing seemed to agree or comply. She struggled, straining through her mental commands to make something, anything happen. And it did. Her fingers twitched. That's it. She felt a surge of excitement as she twiddled her fingers and worked on the rest of her arm. Within minutes she was bending her forearm at the elbow. Moments later the entire arm was functioning. Ecstatically, she moved to reach and run her fingers, so long still on their own, through Sherlock's dark, soft curls...

The blackness encircled her once more. What sort of cruel trick is this?! The blackness, the emptiness was all too familiar to her. It was all a dream. Just a cruel dream. If Molly could have cried at that moment she would have. The desperation was growing thick and she felt she was slowly going insane within the asylum of her mind. She strained herself to take in the sounds around her but found herself at fault. She couldn't hear the distinct usual sounds of the hospital. The paging of a doctor to surgery. The phone ringing at the nurses' station. Footsteps of the nurse or the candystripper in the hallway. Where am I? Am I truly dead now?

No, there was something there. It sounded like the soft hum of a fan. Or an air conditioning unit. She couldn't really feel sensation of warm or cold so she couldn't really tell if that was the sound she heard. She could only feel what she supposed were the sheets upon her skin, if that.

A door opened. The squeak was distinct. She wasn't dead. She was still comatose. Not the best news, but better than the afterlife. She feared that perhaps Mycroft had drugged her and stolen her body. She hoped that wasn't the case.

Fingers brushed her arm. Long, cool fingers that rubbed her lovingly. She knew those digits. Then the sensation of soft lips upon her, as if someone was kissing her cheek. There was a sigh and then a second squeak of the door. "How is she?"

"Her temp is spiking." Sherlock's distinct honey coated deepness echoed through her room of darkness but her heart leapt nonetheless. She hadn't been taken. Perhaps she'd just had a momentary loss of complete consciousness. Sort of like fainting? She couldn't tell. She wasn't a doctor, she was only a lab rat. She listened intently to her husband and a solemn sounding John Watson as they conversed about her.

"What is it now?" John asked, moving towards her right side. Perhaps that was where the monitors were. More sensation of touching on the left side, somewhere about her breast and armpit. She smiled inside her self at forgotten intimacy.

"102.9 F." Sherlock sounded a bit disassociated. "Can you give her anything else?"

"I've just given her another dose to see if that will bring it down but there are other things we can try if you like. We do have access to a tub in the bathroom." John sounded so professional.

"I trust your advice, John. What is it we do?"

"We're going to have to try a tepid bath. It might break the fever and give the medicine a chance to work." John moved away from her. Within seconds she could hear the water running within what she figured was the bathroom. Sherlock had moved towards his location and the water drowned out their words momentarily. Molly reflected. She'd remembered her mother sticking her in a tepid bath before. She also remembered how the water which was lukewarm to a person of normal body temperature actually felt like an arctic chill to her as she'd had a high temp at the time. She'd fought and cried and pleaded with her mother not to keep her in it, but after she'd been removed, her mother had calmly wrapped her in a sheet and took her to bed. She was able to sleep later on that night as the fever broke. She grimaced within her mind. If she could feel sensation, this would surely be torture. Why do I have a temperature? Am I sick?

They were approaching her once more, talking to each other, something about Mycroft but she couldn't quite make it out over the sound of the water filling up the tub. Sherlock's fingers were brushing her arm once more. She felt what seemed like an arm sliding underneath her legs and her shoulders and then the feeling of being weightless settled in. Sherlock was carrying her. She felt giddy, as if this were some romantic interlude. She knew where she was going though, and that idea still soured within her mind. "Has Mycroft contacted you lately?" Sherlock spoke nonchalantly as they neared the sound of the water. It became thunderous until it disappeared. John must have shut off the facet.

"Yes, actually." John started. He was suddenly close again. "Sherlock, I hope you don't mind, I'm going to have to remove her gown, unless you want to set her down..."

"No, it's fine." Sherlock stated. She could sense the edge in his voice, the possessiveness and jealousy that was unwarranted. She smiled once more. It was nice to be thought of in such terms. The sensation of something light upon her skin being removed could be felt. She imagined that John was probably red faced at this moment, as probably was Sherlock.

"Just set her down in it, let it submerge her." John instructed, now sounding as if his back was to her. She felt like she was falling and then, if she could have gasped she would have. She felt as if she'd been laid in a liquid bed of ice. Her body couldn't shiver, she couldn't cry to protest. The iciness enveloped her up to her chin. Sherlock! I'm so cold... "As I was saying, I did hear from him. He has taken to walking with crutches as of now. It seems that the antidote is working."

"Brilliant. If It worked for him perhaps it will work for Molly." Sherlock sounded hopeful. She could imagine him sitting upon the side of the tub conversing with a Dr. Watson who was possibly standing behind a privacy curtain or in the doorway.

"There is a chance that it won't though, Sherlock. You need to be realistic." John stated. Silence.

"When can we try the first dose?" Sherlock sounded impatient.

"I'll have it worked up by the weekend. Until then we need to try and keep her stable and comfortable. I believe the tumor is trying to take over and we can't let it continue to develop." John sighed.

"You're suggesting..."

"Yes, I am. It could certainly speed the process along, if nothing else."

"But it's risking her life just to be able to give her a dose of the antidote."

"I know. That's why that decision is in your hands."

More silence. "No. We try the dose first and see what happens. If it doesn't seem to have any effect..." Sherlock stopped. Molly strained her ears to listen. It was hard to concentrate when you were neck deep in what felt like ice water. "Then I'll consider the removal of the tumor." More surgery? Molly didn't quite know what to think. She understood he was taking precautions. Would the surgery allow me to come out of this coma? Molly knew not what Sherlock would decide. But she trusted him with her life, and if he decided that this was the best course of action, then so be it.

"I've got to get back to the lab. Mycroft is going to meet me there and give me any intel he's collected on Moriarty. Are you okay here with her?" Silence. She figured Sherlock had nodded or completely ignored his friend whilst deep in thought. "Let her soak for about twenty minutes and then you can put her back to bed. If she's still hot, just cover her with the sheet. I'll be back in about an hour." With that John's voice faded and she heard the squeak of the door once more.

She felt Sherlock's hands upon her once more, stroking her hair, brushing her arms, washing the fadingly cold water about her skin. "Almost free of this, love. John's a bloody brilliant doctor. He's cured Mycroft, perhaps it will cure you as well." His lips were upon her forehead once more. Her heart swelled once more.

It wasn't until she felt herself flying throughout the air and once more upon the softness of the hospital bed that she realized Sherlock was completely devoted to her, her care. She missed hearing the giggle or even the hungry cry of her baby girl. She figured Abigail was in the caring and loving hands of Mrs. Hudson and that was a comfort. The bed dipped and arms wrapped about her. She felt the warmth of her husband as he climbed in beside her to wait out her fever.


	37. chapter 37

Sherlock sat on the edge of the tub, a hand dipping into the tub and bringing up a cupped palm of tepid water. He poured it gently upon Molly's chest and returned the hand to continue the action. Molly lay within the old hospital tub, eyes closed, seemingly peaceful. He'd taken the liberty of placing a rolled up white towel behind her neck so as to allow her head to rest comfortably against the porcelain. The lights flickered here and there within the old abandoned hospital room. He sighed to himself, deep in thought. He leaned back, reaching for the white washcloth that sat upon the top of the shelving within the room. He returned it to the water and soaked it, hoping to help speed up the process of breaking her fever.

Molly's fever had broke after the first evening of the lukewarm soak. Unfortunately, Molly's temperature would only stay down for a matter of hours before it would immediately spike up once more. Sherlock had awoken only thirty minutes earlier from lying witih the bed with his wife to find her shivering underneath the sheets with her skin ablaze. He'd immediately called John, who thankfully was back at Baker Street giving Mrs. Hudson a break with Abigail, who had recently become colicky. No one better to treat a colicky child than Dr. Watson. Sherlock had felt thankful as he had run the water and placed his naked love into the water once more.  
As he stroked her skin with the wet washcloth he contemplated. Can she hear me? Is there any consciousness in there at all? Sherlock quickly became frustrated by merely thinking of the possibility of her being able to hear him and not react. It wasn't fair. He trailed the washcloth up around her pale neck and down across her breasts. He wanted her back, awake, giggling, stroking his arm in her loving way or running her fingers through his curls the absent-minded way that she did. "How did I never see you before, my Molly?" Sherlock asked softly as he bathed her. His mind often wandered back to the time before he'd taken her out on a date, something he'd never have ever expected to do. It was hard for him even now to remember exactly how it had been before. He'd deleted many things from before her that he deemed unimportant and it was all too possible that conversations and interactions with Molly were included. He felt almost guilty at the thought of it. "It is ironic that we find each other in this way, and my enemies try to do away with you to hurt me. Mycroft was right. Caring is not an advantage." He humphed and slapped the washcloth into the water in exasperation.

Sherlock's phone began to ring in the jacket pocket as it sat across the chair John had dragged into the bathroom at one point or another. He took hold of a dry towel and leaned over to take hold of it. It was John. He answered. "John?"

"I've got Abby calm now. Mrs. Hudson had a good rest and she's bright eyed and bushy tailed to tend to her. I'm headed back. I've got the serum." John sputtered into the phone. Sherlock noted he was walking outside, perhaps to catch a cab in front of the flat.

"Brilliant. As always, I am thankful." Sherlock spoke into the phone and turned back, eyes on Molly. "Will you be administering it when you arrive?"

"How is her temperature?"

"I've got her in the bath now going on twenty minutes. It hasn't broken yet."

"I'll have to wait until she's stable. I don't want her body trying to fight off whatever is causing the temp as well as the antidote. It could have a negative effect."

Sherlock's shoulders slumped. He would have to wait a bit longer it would seem. "I understand. See you soon." Sherlock hung up the phone and placed it back on top of his jacket. He turned and began to wash Molly once more. "Come on, love. If you can possibly hear me in there...it's nearly done. Hold on a bit longer." He ran the washcloth over her chest once more and stopped momentarily to lay his large palm upon her chest to feel her heartbeat. He held it there a moment, not sensing anything. No rise and fall of the chest. He took to his knees next to the tub, reaching into the tepid water to take hold of her wrist and feel for a pulse. Nothing. "No..." Sherlock dipped into the tub, disregarding the splashing of the water soaking him through and lifted Molly out of it. He raced through the hospital room and laid her upon the bed, his ear going to her chest to listen. Still nothing. 

Sherlock's mind went blank. John was en route, he couldn't contact the hospital staff as they were unaware of Molly's survival and most of them had attended her funeral. Time was of the essence. If he could do something up until John entered then perhaps...

Sherlock's mouth was immediately upon her, blowing in rescuing warm breaths to fill her lungs. He shook her, with no response and immediately began chest compressions to pump the blood throughout her body. With every pump and every breath the bile rose more within his throat, the adrenaline coursed throughout his body. He continued, attempting to distance himself from the emotional uprising that was currently threatening his sanity and ability to concentrate.

After what seemed like hours, the door to the room creaked open and John entered, immediately taken aback by the state Sherlock appeared to be in. He sat next to the bed, trembling, hair soaked through with sweat, pallor upon his face. He held onto Molly's hand so tight that his knuckles were white. "Sherlock? What's wrong?" John flew into the room, circling the bed. He glanced up at the monitor, noting that Molly's vital signs were sluggish but stable. He placed a hand upon her forehead, feeling the sweat as it broke out upon her hairline. "Thank god, I think her fever just broke. Her blood pressure's a bit low. What happened? You look like hell."

"I had to rescucitate her." Sherlock's voice was uneven, on the verge of something broken, but only edging in.

"Bloody hell..." John came to rest in a chair next to the bed. Molly seemed fine, laying under the sheet, allowing her body to be cooled by the fan Sherlock had positioned to blow upon her. Her pulse was strong, her respirations normal. "She's okay now, Sherlock. You did a fantastic job. You can relax now." John pulled out his phone to page the doctor that Mycroft had commissioned to care for her when needed. Sherlock rose, stumbled towards the bathroom and took to wretching. John gave him a moment, noting that nothing came up.

Sherlock emerged moments later, sullen, pale, and still trembling. "When's the last time you ate?" John asked, concerned. Sherlock shook his head. "I know it's the last thing on your mind, but you've got to stay healthy and strong for her."

"When can you give it? We can't wait much longer if she's going to have episodes like that..." Sherlock wretched once more, but steadied himself. 

"Her fever's broken. I suppose I could give it now but really if she just coded-"

"Give it."

"You're sure?"

Sherlock met John's gaze. His eyes were tearing up, whether from his regurgitation or from fear John couldn't tell but he was pretty sure it was the latter. "Okay." John pulled the capped syringe out of his pocket. "Okay, Sherlock. We'll do it." He strode back into the room, preparing an area on Molly's arm with an alcohol swab and injected her. Sherlock watched, leaning against the door jam to the bathroom as if clinging to life. "The next few hours are going to be crucial."

Sherlock nodded, disappearing into the bathroom once more only to splash cold water upon his face before returning to Molly's side. He climbed into the bed beside her, a hand upon her wrist to feel her pulse, beating strong and steady. He laid his other hand upon her chest to be able to feel her breath. He feared falling asleep and allowing her to drift away from him once more without him being able to save her. "Please, Molly. Don't." He choked back a sob. He disregarded John taking a seat beside her and grasping her free hand, taking up his vigil to watch her. "Don't leave me..."


	38. Chapter 38

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The last few chapters are upon us my friends. As sad as it is, I'm going to have to bring this fantastic story to an end sooner or later. Unlike some of my fanfics I can only take certain storylines so far before they start to become a little out there. So, I'm not saying its going to end right here, because that would be cruel. But I am indeed winding up for a big silver lining filled finale!
> 
> Next chapter, we find out if the second round of antidote had any effect....that's all I'm saying. Will there be joy? Love? Angst? Tears? Moriarty? I'm not saying. You'll just have to read and find out.
> 
> Thank you all for sticking with me these 38 chapters! I'll try to get that next chapter conjured up and cranked out soon! :)
> 
> Reviews and comments are cherished. Please leave me some!

Sherlock awoke from a deep, dreamless sleep. He'd heard crying, somewhere far off into the distance, the void between him and the disembodied voice hollow and dark. He flailed, his arms making some semblence of movement as he came out of his sleep and blinked his eyes into the light. Molly? Is Molly awake and crying? This thought both thrilled and terrified him. Surely if Molly was awake and sobbing it couldn't completely be good news.  
Sherlock's eyes blinked opened and adjusted to the dim light of the lamp beside Molly's hospital bed. He stared into the strange orange pink glow towards John who strode back and forth slowly with Abigail within his arms. He was shushing her and cooing at her to quieten down. "There, there. It's alright. Now shhh..." John's voice was low but soothing. Sherlock completely regained his awareness. He'd been sleeping in the bed next to his comatose wife and Abigail's cries had wrenched him awake. John started towards the door, hesitating, as if it were the last place he needed to be with a crying babe.

"I'll take her." Sherlock spoke sleepily and ended the short sentence with a yawn. John turned about and his face was shamed.

"I'm sorry. I didn't want to wake you. She's probably hungry. Just waiting for her bottle to finish. I would've taken her outside but people would probably wonder about the cries of a child in the abandoned wing." John chuckled a bit and handed over the squealing baby girl to her father. Sherlock nestled her within his arms and cuddled the swaddling cloth up about her rosy cheeks. He began to speak softly to her. John was amazed at the quickness with which she quieted as he coddled her. "She's missed her father." John smiled.

"I know I should have been around more but the last few days have been so vital..." Sherlock felt guilty. He surely should have been caring for Abigail, but Molly's ailment and possible recovery had completely overtaken any priority he'd had in mind. 

"No worries. Mrs. Hudson had been wonderful caring for her. Keeping her on schedule. I just figured it had been a while since Abby had seen her mother and, well..." John trailed off, not wanting to sadden Sherlock any further. Sherlock shook his head and gave John a knowing look.

"I understand, it was right of you to do so." Sherlock looked down upon his daughter as he spoke, watching as she followed him with her bright eyes and suckled on her left hand and fingers. Never before had he ever imagined he would receive joy merely from admiring his own child. Life was a beautiful thing, this he had learned from Molly and their life together up to this point. You cannot let it pass you by. You must cherish every moment with the ones you love before it is extinguished like a candle flame in a wavering breeze. Sherlock sighed.  
"I'm just going to pop out and grab her bottle." John motioned towards the door and exited it quickly. Sherlock looked on, rocking Abigail back and forth as she cooed. He glanced over at Molly. She lay upon the bed something of a sleeping beauty. Sherlock longed for her to awaken, to look at him and their daughter, to hold Abigail in her arms. Soon, if I have anything to say about it. Sherlock's face hardened at the thought. It's got to work. It has to.   
Sherlock heard the door open and close behind him. When he heard the approach, he noted the change in gait. Surely John has not acquired his psychosomatic limp once more? Or even this quickly? Sherlock turned and watched Mycroft enter, using his umbrella as a cane. Sherlock's eyebrows rose in unison with pleasant surprise. "Brother, it appears you are recovering."   
Mycroft nodded, his usual sly grin gracing his face. He took a seat in the chair next to Sherlock. "Yes, it appears that your friend John Watson is something of a genius when it comes to serums and antidotes. I've been steadily progressing even within hours. I should be back to normal come the end of the week I suppose." He laid the umbrella up against the table with the lamp upon it and glanced down at his niece. "How is the family?"

"Well at the moment it would seem." Sherlock watched Abigail with a father's pride. John entered the room once more, nodding his hello to Mycroft and handing Sherlock the bottle. Abigail took to it hungrily. The three men watched her suckle for a few moments.

"Any improvement?" Mycroft asked John. He returned with a sullen shake of his head.

"Not much. Her vitals have stabilized, and she hasn't had an episode like the one Sherlock experienced the other night since, but she hasn't awoken or attempted any signaling that she can hear us or even respond." John rubbed his knees anxiously. He was equally ready for Molly to show some signs of recovery.

"Do you think this is in part to the tumor that has yet to be removed?" Mycroft glanced over at Sherlock, who he knew had heard but was fully intent on watching Abigail get her fill of the bottle. 

"I hate to say it, but it may be due in part to that." John looked up at his friend as well, who glanced at him, acknowledging him. He hated to make the decision. "I do believe that the tumor is perhaps feeding off of her good antibodies and not allowing her body to properly fight the damage that has already been done."

"You truly believe that removing the tumor from Molly is going to allow your antidote to work?" Sherlock inquired. He glanced once more at his brother, twiddling his foot about mindlessly. It obviously was working well for him.

"I hate to say it, but yes." John answered, wringing his hands. Sherlock sighed and hung his head. He glanced down once more at Abigail, who by now had finished the bottle and was starting off to sleep after being burped. 

"What are the chances of her survival if the tumor is removed?" Sherlock asked as he gently rocked Abigail to sleep.

"Greater than 50% if I'm in the room with an experienced surgeon." John stated.

"I can have Britain's leading neurosurgeon here within the hour." Mycroft added. Sherlock glanced at them both.

"Fine. If that's what needs to be done, then so it shall be." Sherlock averted his eyes. John could see the start of an emotional release Sherlock was prone to in these situations forming in his eyes. "I want you to prepare another dose of your antidote and as soon as you see she's properly recovered from the surgery, administer it." Sherlock stated sternly. John nodded his agreement. Mycroft looked at them both, sensing the green light, and pulled out his phone. He stood, with some difficulty and the help of his umbrella and took the call into the bathroom. 

Within the span of two hours, Mycroft had indeed acquired Dr. Sebastian Garrow and had him flown out to their location. He'd blocked off a surgical suite and allowed the staff that accompanied the surgeon to set up the room and prepare for the surgery. John had taken the time to speak to the surgeon, noting his experience and situation regarding the patient, and stood mentally preparing himself as he watched his friend lay within the hospital bed with Molly and their child and spend their last few moments together. Mycroft, Dr. Garrow, and John stepped out into the empty hallway to allow them some privacy.

Sherlock gazed over Molly as she lay. "I hate having to hold your life within my hands, Molly." Sherlock shook his head. Abigail slept silently between them. "But John says this is the best path to take, and I trust that man with my life as I would trust you would make the same decisions for me if I were in your position." Sherlock stroked Molly's soft cheek and allowed the tears welling up in his eyes to roll down his own. He would not hide his emotions in this moment, which could always realistically be their last. "I just want you to know, if you can hear me, that I love you fiercely. More so than I ever could have thought I could love. I hid my heart away, due to the sloppiness of human sentiment and emotion. I was blind to you for so long. It's pathetic that I never took the time to really look at you and see you before I found out your diagnosis. But now, I think we can heal you, fix you, and give you back a life full of my everlasting love and attention." Sherlock sobbed silently, not wanting to awaken Abigail during this moment. "You're going to make it through this, you're going to awaken, you're going to get better day by day, and we are going to raise this child together and teach her to be just like you." Sherlock smiled through his tears and laid a sweet kiss upon Molly's cheek. 

John re-entered, and by that time Sherlock and risen from the bed, righted himself, and placed Abigail in the crib provided within the room. "It's time. Are you ready?" John laid a comforting hand upon Sherlock's shoulder. Sherlock pulled him near.

"Take care of her, John. Please." Sherlock begged. John agreed and patted him on the shoulder. He opened the door, allowing Sherlock to exit with Abigail and the team of nurses entered the room to wheel Molly down to her operation. 

Sherlock watched after her, growing desperation within his rapidly beating heart.

It was hour six. Sherlock was laid out over both of the chairs within the room, awaiting any word, anything at all from the surgical suite. Nothing had been reported since hour four. Sherlock was assuming the worst, but he couldn't keep his mind from focusing on what was out of his hands, out of his control. Abigail had been whisked off to a nap back at 221B Baker Street with nanny Mrs. Hudson. Lestrade had popped in for a moment to give his regards and check on Sherlock's mental state. Mycroft had brought him a cigarette. A normal one this time. Low tar was for unimportant tugging of heart strings. Regular full flavor were for those you truly loved it would seem. Thankfully afterwards, Mycroft had silently wandered off to take care of some trying government business. Sherlock hadn't even asked after it, knowing both that his brother would not tell him anything substantial, and also because he didn't really care about it at the moment. He wanted to know about Molly.

The door opened. Sherlock sprung up from his position and noted John as he entered, pulling off his surgical cap as he did so. John smiled. Sherlock's shoulders slumped, his entire demeanor relaxed. "We were able to locate and remove the entire tumor. There were no other noted lesions upon her spinal cord. Her scan came back with a few upon the brain, but those were the ones already there when we entered the hospital this go, Sherlock. They'll give us something to watch after we give her the second dose."

"Is she doing alright?" Sherlock asked.

"Yes, she's in recovery. She's been there a good thirty minutes. As soon as they wheel her back down here and I'm absolutely sure that she's stable, I'll administer the second dose. I hope you've got a stomach for coffee because it's going to be a bloody long night." John was still smiling, which caused Sherlock's heart to rejoice. Molly was doing well, she had survived major surgery once more. Sherlock drew his friend in close to him and embraced him. John returned the hug and chuckled. It had been a grueling operation, but with such care and consideration as the two surgeons took upon Molly's body, not one mistake had been made.

Sherlock and John joined in happy conversation for a good twenty minutes longer before the nurses wheeled Molly's hospital bed back into the room. Sherlock drew Dr. Garrow's in for a manly hug as well, surprising Mycroft who stood close by chatting with them. His brother definitely had changed. 

After all of the bustling had died down, John and Sherlock remained within the room. John held the syringe within his hand, watching the monitor with renewed anxiety. "Are you ready for this?"

"Most definitely."

"Anything could happen."

"I'm prepared for anything."

"That you are." John smiled and prepared the injection site. "Here goes nothing." The syringe was emptied into Molly's arm once more. John griped Sherlock's shoulder firmly. "Pray and be vigilant." John sighed. The anxiety was back in full swing for both of the men within the room. Sherlock took his place in the chair beside her, leaning in to kiss her sweetly upon her forehead and taking her hand in his to let her know he was present and unwaveringly vigilant.


	39. Chapter 39

Sherlock sat across from Molly beside the bed, fidgeting with the plastic chair. He never let go of her hand, fearing that if he did he might break some phantom connection between the two of them. He watched over her, vigilant, unwavering, although his eyes had begun to droop on occasion. He would immediately fidget himself awake. He wondered how long, after being under so much stress, that he could hold out and watch over his wife without falling asleep. 

John sat in the chair over near the lamp, flipping through a paper, rubbing his lips with his finger mindlessly as he snapped it up into a holding position. He glanced occasionally at his friend, who sat, frail and pale but strong willed next to the hospital bed. He glanced at the monitor. Blood pressure is a little low, but not critical, pulse is good, oxygen is looking a bit on the low side, but her respirations have increased a bit. John crinkled his brow in slight concern. He stood. Sherlock glanced up at him immediately, watching the army doctor as he neared the bed and circled it, opening a drawer and pulling out a plastic vial of medicine. "What's wrong?" Sherlock asked.  
"Nothing I don't think. She may be having a slight reaction, as her oxygen and respirations are a bit off. I'm just going to give her a breathing treatment to help open her lungs up a bit and counteract it." John nodded reassuringly to Sherlock as he applied the treatment to a mask, attached it to her oxygen, and applied it with the proper machine. John and Sherlock stared at the monitor for the duration of the treatment and watched as her oxygen level rose and her respirations receeded some. John was satisfied, patting Sherlock on the shoulder and returning to his seat with the newspaper. Sherlock trusted John, and decided to make a trip to the bathroom while he had the chance. He returned shortly after, noting no critical change in his wife's condition, and sat to continue to watch over her.

Lestrade ventured in for a visit later on that evening. He chatted with John and stood watching Sherlock from a distance, noting that the consulting detective had given in to the heaviness of his eyelids and the weariness of his body and had fallen asleep in the chair clutching Molly's hand to his chest as he lay across the bed. "How's he holding up?" Lestrade inquired as he looked pitifully on.

"He's holding up. I believe if something else happens before something good comes out of this than it may possibly break him." John shook his head as he answered. 

"Do you believe that Moriarty still thinks that he succeeded through Mycroft?" 

"I certainly hope so. We can't afford anymore distractions or problems." John huffed and shook his head. 

An alarm sounded. John's attention went straight to the monitor. Lestrade glanced up as well in surprise. "What's that?!"

"It's not good!" John ran over and shook Sherlock violently with one hand while grabbing the stethoscope from the nearby table and placing it in his ears and upon her chest. Sherlock sat up tiredly and took hold of the edge of John's shirt to anchor him and bring him back to reality once more. 

"John?" Sherlock tiredly questioned.

"Sherlock, I need you to get up and help me." John tried his best to sound calm. He frantically listened to the respirations that were rapidly becoming increased and shallow. Molly's racing pulse had triggered the alarm. Her blood pressure was skyrocketing as well. "Now! Sherlock!" John turned and pointed at Lestrade. "The red cart outside the door. Roll it in and hand me the kit in the second drawer."

Sherlock stood shakily from his seat, the adrenaline and realization of the haste in John's barking voice setting him on edge. He read the numbers on the screen. "What's wrong with her?!"

"She's having a reaction, Sherlock! She can't breathe. Her throat is swelling shut." John threw the stethoscope to the side and began to feel along Molly's soft throat. He grabbed hold of a nearby towel. "Roll it up!"

Sherlock rounded the bed with lightening speed as Lestrade noisily banged into the room with the crash cart. John tossed Sherlock the towel and he quickly rolled it up. Lestrade had located the surgical kit and was now at John's side. "What now, John?!"

"Clear a space, open it up. Then into the bathroom. We're going to need a lot of towels. Also, phone in my jacket over on the chair. Speed dial 1 and tell the doctor to get his sodding ass in here now!" John commanded with the air of a seasoned army doctor. He remained calm in his exterior as he told the two men what to do. "Roll her your way, Sherlock."

Sherlock complied, his entire demeanor becoming serious and sullen as he did so. Good. He's settling into the emergency mindset. I can't have him losing it when I do this. John grabbed the rolled up towel and placed it between Molly's shoulders as they rolled her back over. Her throat was more easily accessible and palpable now. Lestrade ran back in and dumped the towels about Molly's feet. Sherlock took note of Molly's color as she began to turn a sickly bruised shade of blue from the lack of oxygen. Gods, no. Please, no. Sherlock struggled to stay sane in the moment. He locked eyes with John. John anchored him in the moment. Lestrade was already on the phone barking into it as he stood at the far corner of the room, allowing the other two men space.  
John was searching the surgical kit with a surgeon's precision. He met Sherlock's worried eyes. "Listen to me. I'm going to have to do an emergency cricothyroidotomy. I'm going to have to cut into her throat and place a tube so that she can breathe. You can NOT wig out on me. Not til it's over, do you understand?" John had placed the towels about Molly to prepare. He knew what was coming. There would be a lot of blood. Sherlock didn't answer at first. "Got it?!" John ordered. Sherlock nodded. "Okay, here we go."

John thrived on this, he had done many in the field, many more in the hospitals. He could do it in his sleep. He searched, finding the right area to make his cut and sliced through the soft tissue in Molly's throat. The cartilage that lay below shone through. John cut through this as well, a small cut but one that brought a massive amount of blood. Sherlock gasped. John didn't have time to look up to make sure his friend was still within the scope of reality with him. He took hold of the tube and thrust it within the cut in the voicebox and immediately clamped the oxygen tubing onto it. "It's working! Oxygen is up, John!" John heard Lestrade yelling from somewhere behind him. He glanced up, nervous, hoping he wasn't imagining what he wanted to hear. It was true enough. Molly was breathing rapidly on her own, but her oxygen was rising. 75%. 88% 98%. John relaxed, still holding onto the tube. He felt faint, the adrenaline coursing through him making him shaky. 

Sherlock stood over Molly, attempting to mop up the blood spill that had waterfalled across Molly's skin and the surrounding towels. He was whimpering, although John wasn't sure that he knew he was. John glanced back at Lestrade, motioning for him to come closer. Lestrade was at his side immediately. "I need the tracheotomy collar and kit." John stated. Lestrade gave him a stout nod and went to the cart to fish it out. John watched his friend nervously. Sherlock seemed lost in his own world as he cleaned Molly's neck and chest with the towels. Lestrade was back with the needed supplies and John quickly applied the trach to the incision, rounding out and finishing the procedure. Lestrade motioned to Sherlock. "Sherlock." John called. Sherlock didn't seem to hear him. John reached out and took hold of the consulting detective's wrist. "Sherlock, she's fine. She's breathing." Sherlock slowly looked up and met John's eyes. He was lost, entirely lost.

"I think he's bloody broken." Lestrade sounded shocked. John squeezed Sherlock's wrist. Sherlock stared on. 

"Sherlock, look. Look at the screen." John placed Sherlock's hand upon Molly's chest, allowing him to feel the now steadying rise and fall as she breathed. Sherlock turned his eyes up to the screen and stared. "Oxygen is 98%, she doesn't have to be on a vent. I'm going to give her a little epi to try and fight off a continuing reaction and some antibiotics to help fight the infection. We'll let Mycroft's specialized doc take a look when he comes in, but I'm pretty sure I was clean with it." John continued to stare at Sherlock. Sherlock brought his eyes back down to meet John's. He at first said nothing, but John observed the tears as they formed and spilled out down his paled cheekbones. All the color had gone out of him.

"It's not going to work." Sherlock sounded distant. 

"Not saying that. It most definitely is doing something within her if its causing a reaction at all. We need to be patient. This is why we watch." John was calm and stoic with his explanation. "You need to keep the faith. She's alive, she's breathing. She's tumor free. Don't bail now." John tried being stern, but at the moment of weakness Sherlock was teetering on the edge of he found it too hard to come down on him firmly. 

"Is this hurting her?" Sherlock asked.

"Perhaps a bit, but initially no. It was harming her more to feel like she was suffocating, and we remedied that." John reassured him. "I'll even go ahead and give her a few lidocaine injections around the site so it will be numb for a bit. Would that be okay?" John asked. Sherlock nodded mournfully. John hurried back to the cart just as the doctor was entering the room. John went on to give the doctor a run down of the situation and then drew up a syringe of lidocaine. He administered the injections about the skin around the trach and disposed of them. Sherlock stood, staring down at Molly, his hand still upon her chest, feeling her heart beat and her chest rise and fall. The signs of a lively human being. She was warm, her color had returned. 

"Thank god for you and that war, John Watson." Sherlock's face did an immediate 180 degree turn. John wrinkled his brow in confusion as he rounded the bed, accepting the doctors okay and acknowledgement of him leaving a few minutes later to procur the antibiotics that John had prescribed. "If not for you, I would not have you as a flatmate and as a savior to my wife." Sherlock nearly fell back into the chair closest to him. John stood, hands behind his back, military making itself known unconsciously once more. "I bless the day you walked into my life, for here now you not only have saved me from the ruefulness of my own self, but also from the demise of the one I love only slightly more so than you." 

John felt like he was going to be emotional. He couldn't allow it. His friend, who sat broken and weary before him, praising him for merely existing was breaking his heart. He felt an overwhelming surge of brotherly love towards Sherlock in that moment, and he'd felt it many times before. It wasn't often that Sherlock Holmes expressed sentiment or love for another, unless it was Molly. "It is my honor to care for you and Molly. My closest friends." John held out his hand in a manly gesture, to kind of vaporize the emotional stickiness that was settling in. Sherlock smirked and shook his hand warmly. 

"Well, good things on the horizon then." Lestrade cleared his throat behind them. John sighed. He'd nearly forgotten that Lestrade was in the room. John turned to him.

"Thank you immensely for all of your help, Detective Inspector. We were lucky to have you present." John smiled. Lestrade returned it.

"Anything for friends." Lestrade nodded, blushing slightly, although he wasn't really sure why. He became serious once more. "Perhaps I'll stay a bit. I'm off the clock for a personal day and I'd like to stay and help keep watch over Mrs. Molly if that's alright by you." 

Sherlock nodded, relieved to have the extra eyes just in case. Lestrade removed his long coat and clapped his hands together. "Right, boys. Coffee, biscuits, a spot of tea. I'll be back." Lestrade left on that note to obtain the items he had named and perhaps more. Sherlock lay back and sighed loudly. He was tired, stretched thin. If not for his closest friends, he'd be a broken muttering wreck before his comatose wife.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am sorry for the angst. But if I'm going to continue this story, I'm going to do it in true angsty rip your heart out fashion. We're building close relationships here friends. There is a silver lining, and yes, there will be more Abigail! 
> 
> Next chapter, Sherlock finds a shocking surprise awaiting him when he wakes from a nap. This time, it isn't the sound of his child crying for her bottle in the background. What shall it be? :)
> 
> As always, review! I do apologize, but you know you all enjoy the angst. Happy times are ahead, I promise. Next chapter. I'll deliver. If you let me know how much you despise me for this chapter. LOL :)


	40. Chapter 40

Sherlock dreamed. He dreamed of nothing and of everything...of past experiences, deductions, cases. He tossed and turned upon the long futon like couch that Lestrade and John had confiscated from somewhere within the hospital and brought into the makeshift ICU room. Sherlock was too terrified of harming Molly by climbing into the hospital bed with her while she was intubated through her trach. He'd hardly slept for hours on end. He looked ragged, pale, scrawny, and stretched entirely too thin. John and Lestrade took their watches more so to watch over Sherlock's condition than Molly's. Molly was flourishing, but she was still comatose and no real reaction could be seen towards the serum that John had injected into her. She lay a sleeping beauty, still within the hospital bed.

Sherlock had taken a nearly 24 hour long watch, despite John's nagging and Lestrade's bullying. He had ignored them both. He sat in the chair next to Molly, watching her sleep, her chest rising and falling. He held her hand, feeling the warmth within his, reminding him that she was indeed alive and well. He was starting to lose touch with reality, and the warmth of her skin coursing with life seemed the only thing anchoring him to the world they lived in.

It hadn't been until Mycroft and John got together and slipped a bit of narcotic into his tea that Sherlock slept, unaware that he'd been unknowingly drugged by his best friend and brother. John felt only a wee bit guilty about taking that path but he knew the downward spiral that Sherlock was quickly heading down if something wasn't done. There was no reasoning with Sherlock once his mind was set. 

John and Lestrade had moved Sherlock's dozing body to the futon and covered him with the spare hospital blanket. Currently he'd been asleep a good 12 hours with no signs of waking. He'd sleep walked himself to the bathroom at about hour nine with John's assistance and back to the futon without waking. No he lay, drooling and snoring loudly upon the smallish couch like piece of furniture, dreaming rapidly changing and barely comprehensible dreams.

Hour 15 Sherlock lay in a strangely calm state. He could hear the sounds of the hospital room, but was unable to note whether the view of the room when he opened his eyes was reality or just another piece of his neverending drug and exhaustion induced dreaming. His eyes fluttered open and watered a bit as he glanced askew at the bed and the somewhat empty room. The monitor beeped, the light let off its strangely dim and comforting glow. No one seemed to be in attendance. Sherlock closed his eyes, but the sound of shuffling about in the bathroom to the right of him forced him to open them again. Someone was in there. Probably just Lestrade or John. Doubtful it's Mycroft. He doesn't use public restrooms if he doesn't have to. Strange thoughts, but still the genius brain of Sherlock rambled off its usual deductions as he struggled to pull himself into a sitting position. The shuffling continued, such as that of bare feet upon slick tile. He sleepily ran his hand through his disheveled curls and glanced towards the bed.   
The bed was empty. He hadn't noticed it at first. The blankets were tossed about, but no one occupied it. Where had they taken Molly? Had something happened and they had to whisk her back off to surgery? Had he let himself get to the point of exhaustion where he wasn't able to be roused? Sherlock's heart was suddenly within his throat and his stomach felt full of stones. Oh gods, what if....Sherlock dared not finish the thought but felt the panic starting to quickly gnaw at him. He was trying vainly to shake himself from the grogginess and rise to his feet.  
Movement towards the bathroom door. He quickly turned his eyes to the doorway and they widened in shock and awe. A slender woman with long brownish hair in a much too large hospital gown stood in the doorway steadying herself by grasping the trim along the door jam. Her eyes were wide open, beautiful, staring down at him as he sat upon the futon. A strange, boxlike device sat in the middle of the porcelian skin of her throat. Realization was slow to come but when it dawned on him, Sherlock felt he might burst. "Molly?" He barely choked out. She smiled, nodding tiredly, the bags under her eyes prominent but her color good. "It can't be..."

"Oy, let's not test it. You've been in bed for ages, love." Lestrade's head popped up from beside her, a strong, steadying hand under her right elbow and the other behind her just in case she became too weak. "Let's get back and sit down." He noticed that Sherlock had awoken and his eyes widened as well. This was apparently an unexpected development. Molly began to turn, her feet uneasy and unsteady, but Lestrade guided her slowly and gently back to the hospital bed and helped her sit. When he could see that she was okay he quickly stepped to Sherlock, who could do nothing more than stare slack jawed at his wife as she sat up in the bed. "We tried to rouse you, Sherlock. She woke up about an hour and a half ago. Didn't take her long to want to get up and take a few steps. John popped out to the flat to get Abigail and Mrs. Hudson so I thought I'd help her to the bathroom." Lestrade explained quietly. "You getting this, mate?" He asked, looking over Sherlock as his eyes slowly had met Lestrade's.

"Yes." Sherlock started to push off against the futon so as to stand up and found his own equilibrium betraying him. Lestrade caught him by the right arm and helped haul him up to a standing position. "I'm alright." Sherlock tried to shake him off. Lestrade put his hands in the air in surrender and backed off a few steps to allow him room. Sherlock quickly regained himself and hurried to Molly's side. He said nothing as he bent and took her into his arms, hugging her fiercely and tightly to him. Molly couldn't help but smile and if she could have laughed she would have, but the trach didn't allow much for vocalization. "You came back." He refused to release her until he felt her pushing against him slightly. He dropped to his knees in front of her, between her bare legs and wrapped his arms about her waist, leaning into her, overwhelmed with the joy and emotion that encompassed the realization that his wife was finally awake and seemingly well. He glanced up at her, head up against her stomach. "How do you feel?"

Molly said nothing but smiled warmly at him and nodded. Sherlock wrinkled his brow. "What's wrong? Can you not speak?"

"The trach is probably not allowing her to vocalize, Sherlock. Now that she's awoken, after we've examined her, we can probably take out the trach but it's going to take a bit for her to be able to talk again." A voice spoke up from the door behind her. Mycroft and John entered. John smiled to see the two reunited. Molly was blushing and beautiful, Sherlock could barely take his eyes off of her. "Mrs. Hudson is on her way in with Abigail. I'm sure she's been missing both her husband and her baby." John stated.

Sherlock seemed more at ease after the explanation and resumed his embrace upon his wife from his position in front of her. She hugged him tight to her a hand petting his unruly curls lovingly as she did. She placed both hands upon his cheekbones and pulled him up onto the bed with her and into a loving kiss. Sherlock lost himself in the moment for which he'd waited what seemed like an eternity. The rest of the room quieted and gave them their moment before Mrs. Hudson popped in, swaddling a cooing baby Abigail close to her as she did so. "Oh! I didn't mean to interrupt-" She began.

"No, no." Sherlock broke the kiss and stood to take Abigail from her arms. "You're just in time." Sherlock pulled her close and kissed the top of her head in appreciation before whisking their baby girl over to her mother and sitting upon the bed. "She's missed you, no doubt. I've been a bastard of a father lately." Sherlock started. It seemed that momentarily Molly had lost interest in her husband and became fully encompassed in taking her baby girl into her arms. She rocked her and smiled wider as Abigail giggled and cooed and reached up towards her mother whom she hadn't had much interaction with lately. My baby Abigail, gods how I missed you. You're father has taken lovely care of you, as have your Uncle John and Lestrade and possibly even your Uncle Mycroft. You're so unbelievably beautiful. How could I have left you? Molly's eyes began to fill with tears. Guilt for being gone from caring for Abigail, joy at being reunited, fear of what all had happened while she had been wandering in the blackness. And no way to communicate vocally. She wanted so desperately to tell her family and friends how much she loved them.  
Sherlock watched her as she rocked their daughter, the smiles and joy turning into a frown of despair and tears that drifted down her face. He put a hand to her cheek and wiped them away with his thumb. "Everything is okay, love. You're here now, we are all together. Nothing will separate us. Why are you crying?" He whispered. Molly gazed into his eyes, memories of before their relationship flashing in. The seriousness, the concentration upon his work...how those eyes had always been so focused on a case, or on what John had to say, or on whatever it was he was examining under a microscope. The way his eyes were always focused on something other than her. How she had longed for them to be focused on her. Now here they were, blue green pools of sincerity and soul staring deeply into hers, genuinely interested in nothing else in that room but his wife and their child. This only brought more tears, but they were tears of feeling blessed and loved and wanted. I love you, she mouthed with only a whisp of breath to be heard as she said the words. Sherlock smiled. "I love you too." And he kissed her. He then glanced back down at Abigail as she reached up towards her parents and planted a loving kiss upon her as well. 

The group allowed them all a good hour to reunite with each other before Abigail needed a bottle and Sherlock quickly prepared it for her. She sat holding the infant as she fed her, somewhat saddened by the fact that she could no longer breastfeed her due to her illness and her condition. The baby had come to rely upon formula and two dads while she'd been gone. John explained to her all that had happened, including the faked death, Mycroft's involvement, and the poisoning as well as the injection he'd made to combat the effects. Lestrade had found Molly a paper notebook and a pen to write upon and she had been communicating with it before feeding the baby girl. She listened intently as Sherlock sat beside her, engrossed in her, his hand upon her lower back as they sat together, mindlessly rubbing her with his warm, loving hand. When Abigail had finished, she handed her off to Sherlock and began to write upon her notebook. So, Mycroft is not involved with Moriarty? I remember him in the bedroom that night. Molly wrote and glanced at Mycroft, whose face for once was a mask of sorrow and mournfulness that she had never seen displayed before. 

"I cannot deny that I was in that bedroom to inject you with someone on Moriarty's behalf but I was being forced with my own life to do so. I will never forgive myself, and I don't expect you to either." Mycroft stated. The room went silent.

"As I said, Molly, we were all poisoned. It just so happened that you and Mycroft were the only two actually effected by the effects of the chemical compound used on us. If Mycroft didn't follow through he wouldn't have received the antidote." John explained.

I hope that you understand the consequences of your actions, Mycroft. Molly wrote. "To the fullest extent." Mycroft answered. That being said, I do forgive you. You're only human. Molly wrote. Mycroft gazed at her in disbelief. "You don't have to. You have every right-" Mycroft found himself with arms full of Molly as she leaned forward and hugged him close. No words were spoken. As she pulled away he wiped a tear or two from his eye and averted his gaze. "Thank you, love. You're more humble and loving than I'll ever find myself." 

"Irene didn't call you Ice Man for nothing." Sherlock mumbled and John elbowed him knowingly. Mycroft's face returned to its usual unamused scowl as he met his brother's gaze. 

"On a bright note, we will be getting your scans done in the next hour or two so we can check to see how you're getting on and if the antidote has reversed any of the previous damage done." John piped up. Molly smiled and took hold of his hand, squeezing it thankfully. "Until then I do believe we should leave the three of you to yourself to do some catching up." John rose, as did the others and excused themself. John winked at Sherlock as he exited the room and Sherlock felt a brother love for the man rise within him. Molly took Abigail back from Sherlock's arms, as she now slept and sucked upon her thumb as infants often do. The loving couple settled back upon the bed, Molly within Sherlock's arms and the baby resting between them. Molly reveled in the warmth and love of the family she had been allowed to return to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You're welcome.
> 
> :)
> 
> Next chapter: Molly goes through her tests wondering if the results will be positive. Will she remain clear? Did the antidote work? What will the films show? 
> 
> Hope you guys are happy she's awake once more. :) Sorry for the long wait as well. I was 800 miles away for a while but I'm back home and hoping to start updating regularly again.
> 
> Thank you all for reading still! I love you all. :)


	41. Chapter 41

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Please read and review! I am so so sorry it took me so long to update. I have had many health problems that I'm finally starting to get over over the past few months. I'll hopefully update again within a week! Thank you to those that still follow me an this story!

Within the hour Molly was laying in the MRI scan machine in her gown trying to be completely still. It was hard to do. The medicine that John had given her had worn off and she was feeling anxious. She wasn't in any pain. She at one point reached up to feel the strange device that sat in her throat. She hated the feel of it but didn't blame John for doing what he had needed to to save her life.

Abigail had eventually fallen asleep in her arms before her scan. Mrs. Hudson took her back home for her nap, but Molly felt increasingly guilty about the poor older woman having to watch over her rapidly growing infant so often. She should have been doing that job, not her. Sherlock held onto her hand the entire way down, and Mycroft had cleared off that section of the hospital so as no one would see. With only a few words and a reassuring kiss Sherlock had been nearly pulled out of the room by John. "it'll only take about an hour, Sherlock. And we can watch from the other side of the window there." John had told him. Molly had smiled and waved to him as if to say it's okay, go on. Even though she would have rather he had been able to stay with her.  
Alone with her thoughts Molly reflected on everything. She wondered if Moriarty knew or if the three of her closest had kept that fact from him as intended. She shifted a bit in the MRI machine. She was waiting for it to make the sounds John had warned her about. So far, nothing had. She stared up at the darkened whiteness that surrounded her. She was beginning to feel a bit claustrophobic. Minutes felt like hours. She finally took a deep breath to try and calm herself. She tried to motion with her finger to John so that they wouldn't know something wasn't right. No one responded. Damn it... She thought to herself and decided to risk raising her head. She saw nothing out of the ordinary in the small portion of room she saw beyond her naked feet. Nothing seemed strange. Except that the MRI seemed to not be functioning. She tried to say something but no more than the usual whisper came out due to her trach. She wiggled her feet frantically. She was beginning to get scared. Still no response.   
Her heart began to beat high up in her chest as the claustrophobia increased. John is going to be angry but I've got to get out of here. Molly decided and started to wiggle out towards the opening at the end of the MRI. She succeeded and sat on the edge of the remote control bed that was still positioned inside the machine. She looked around. Nothing but sterile white blinding light and blinking machine lights. She mouthed words... John? Sherlock? and became angry when still no sound came out. She put a hand up to the trach. She glanced towards the window where the operator would normally sit when administering the scan. She walked up and shielded her eyes. No one was present. The room was dark. She banged adamantly on the glass. No response.  
Molly backed up. Now she was truly frightened. Had something happened? She knew for a fact that Sherlock would not leave her by herself, not at any point since her illness and especially not now. She glanced around thee room to find it empty. Then she looked towards the double doors. They were the only entrance to the room and led out to the hallway that had been cleared per Mycroft's request earlier on their way to the room. She started towards it slowly. She gasped as she neared and peeked through to see the hallway lights now flickering eerily. They had not been doing that earlier. She squinted to see if she could note anyone down the hall. No one seemed to be present. She began to push on the door to exit the room when she saw a man come around the corner at the end of the hall. She ducked with a gasp of fear behind the solid part of the door and only risked a glanced after a few seconds of holding her breath.

The man was still there. Standing with his hands in the pockets of his neatly pressed Westwood suit. His dark hair was slicked back in its usual fashion and his thin lips were smirking. Moriarty hadn't moved. She watched with wide, watery, frightened eyes. "Mooooollyyyyyyyy." Moriarty called in a singsong fashion down the hallway. She clamped a hand over her mouth to hold in a scream of terror. She heard footsteps. "Are you in there dear? Getting your head examined? i've had the pleasure of that a few times myself. Although it usually involved a follow up treatment of electroshock therapy afterwards." Moriarty spoke in his estranged way as his footsteps neared the door. "Thought you were dead, though it seems your husband's idiot brother couldn't even finish that simple task." Moriarty tsk tsked as he continued.

Molly hurried quietly over behind the door and grabbed a nearby IV pole and dragged it with her. She stood, grasping it with white knuckles and trying to take slower breaths before she hyperventilated. She had nowhere to run. He would kill her, or torture her, or kidnap her and take her away to do worse things. The brain tumor was only a stepping stone it seemed. "When you want something done right, you do it yourself!" Moriarty threw his hands up in the air as he said the words, noticeably closer and nearly outside the double doors. Molly cringed. "Don't like to get my hands dirty but if they have to squeeze around that punctured neck of yours then so be it. I'll even let your friends watch. And the silent screams....will not disappoint." Moriarty said with a grin as he pushed open the double doors.

Molly saw her only opportunity and took it. She swung the IV pole as hard as she could, striking Moriarty in the temple and following through to shatter the glass of the door. She watched his body fall momentarily to the floor but she didn't hesitate to see the damaged she'd done. She took off through broken glass through the door and down the hallway, trailing bloody footprints as she went. She took a turn, then another, although this part of the hospital did not seem familiar to her. She knew every part of the hospital, how come this part was unknown? "Molly!" She heard Moriarty's voice rising to a lethal pitch from somewhere behind her. She cursed herself. She hadn't injured him badly enough to get far. 

She neared a lab room and ducked in, finding a nearly pole to block the door with. She turned out the lights and hid below the desk, trying to catch her breath which seemed considerably harder with the trach. Tears began to fall down her cheeks. Footsteps were nearing her again. She closed her eyes tight, hoping he would go on past. The door was tested and then began to be rattled and pounded on. Molly wanted to scream badly but found herself at a loss.

 

Sherlock and John sat in the room watching Molly as the scan proceeded. Sherlock was nervous, pacing and pulling at his hair. "Calm down, Sherlock. She's doing just fine. She's nearly done. The second she is you can go back in." John said as firmly as the doctor inside him could state. Sherlock didn't respond at first.

"What if it isn't gone, John? What then? I don't know how much more of this we can take." Sherlock grumbled softly. He had just gotten her back. He couldn't bear losing her again. John was silent but the machine wasn't. He turned. "What is that? What?!" He demanded. 

John was bent over the controls looking at the scan. "It's not the machine, Sherlock." he started up quickly and grabbed the nearby bag he'd brought with him. "She's seizing. Come on!" John yelled to him and barged through the double doors and into the room. Sherlock was only moments behind.

 

It's been eons my friends and I am so very sorry for the delay on the update. I've been fighting many health problems over the last few months but I'm finally on the road to recovery. Which brings more time for updates. :) I hope that you that continue to follow this story will be happy to hear from me and will review and let me know what you think! Please please please. This is why I write. :)

 

Next chapter: Will Molly's nightmares continue? Will the scans come back clean despite Molly's seizure? Plus, something else goes horribly wrong for our lovely couple. Sorry! I need to add the angst. 

Until net update which will hopefully be within the week!


	42. Chapter 42

Sherlock and John raced into the room through the double doors. John was quick, his medical and army instincts kicking in quickly. He was pulling vials and syringes from his bag at lightening speed. Sherlock was merely standing, not really knowing how to get Molly out of the contraption. John had been quick enough to hit the proper sequence to stop the scan and to release Molly from the MRI as they were jetting out. The automatic bed was moving but not nearly fast enough. Sherlock wanted to grab hold and tear the damned thing apart if that's what it took. 

Molly lay on the padded bed as it move, jerking and becoming repetitively stiff and clenching as the seizure progressed. Her eyes had rolled back into her head. "Molly, dear gods. Molly?" Sherlock said in a heartwrenching voice as he touched her. John was readying what he needed and pushing it through her IV. "What's that?" Sherlock asked.

"Valium. It's a large dose but it's suppose to help calm the seizure activity." John watched her. Molly continued to seize for a few seconds before her body seemed to relax. She went limp. Sherlock didn't know what to do. John checked her vital signs. "She's stable for now Sherlock." John sighed with a bit of relief. "Take her and let's get her back to her room. I'll check the scans in a moment but I want to get her where we can monitor her." John squeezed his shoulder.

Sherlock leaned down and scooped Molly effortlessly up off of the bed and close to him. She was dead weight and limp but weighed near to nothing from her struggle with Moriarty's induced illness. He followed John swiftly through the maze of corridors that was the hospital. Sherlock held Molly close enough to take in her familiar smell. Before long they were back in her room. Lestrade stood as they entered.

"Bloody hell, what happened?!" Greg asked as John drew back the sheets to the bed and Sherlock laid her gently in it. 

"Don't really know. She had a seizure." John answered as they hooked her back up. He watched the monitors for a moment then spared a glance at his friend. "She's got good signs, Sherlock. Could just be a side effect of the serum working. I'll go check her scans." He nodded solemnly. Sherlock didn't react, only watched the screen looking for a sign of something to go wrong. John rounded the bed and stopped as Sherlock's grip caught his arm. He looked up. Sherlock was desperate. "What, Sherlock?" He asked.

"What-" Sherlock swallowed dryly. "What if you leave and something happens? What if she dies while you're gone, John?" He asked in a voice so small and frightened it was uncharacteristic of Sherlock as a whole. John stood and studied him for a moment with comforting eyes. 

"Okay, Sherlock." He said calmly and took Sherlock's hand. It transferred from his arm to his hand and gripped him tightly. Sherlock literally clung to his best friend, Molly's savior. John turned to Lestrade. "You'll have to do this for me, Greg, if you don't mind."

"Yeah, sure. Whatever you need." Lestrade stepped forward with his hands on his hips.

"Head up to the lab and do this." John leaned down and scribbled some instructions of a nearby piece of paper. "Thank you." Lestrade said nothing else, only left the room to complete his task. John turned back to Sherlock and nodded with a small smile. "Okay. We wait and watch." He said. It took a moment longer and then Sherlock softened and nodded. He turned his attention back to Molly.

Molly was crouched behind the lab counter shivering with terror and holding a hand to her mouth. Not that she could have screamed if she wanted to, but the natural reaction to do so persevered. The door was still being rattled and the door assaulted. "I know you're in there, Molly. It's too bad you're indestructible boyfriend isn't here to help you. It's just you and me. And no windows." Moriarty began his maniacal laugh once more. "What to do with you once I'm in? Hmm..." He screamed suddenly and began to wail on the door once more. 

Molly could only sit and try to keep her wits about her. Eventually she placed her hands over her ears and shut her eyes so tightly that they stung. Then everything faded to black.

Molly's eyes fluttered open nearly four hours later. She felt extremely weak. She struggled to sit but her body would not readily follow commands. She glanced about the room. John was sitting across room reading something. Sherlock was once more passed out propped up on his elbow and snoring lightly seated beside her bed, his hand on hers and holding tight. Her first thoughts were of the sweetness of seeing her husband ever present beside her. Then her thoughts reverted back to the nightmare she had only moments ago found herself in. That helped her nervous system kick off its Valium fog. She sat up straight in the bed, startling Sherlock awake. She worked her mouth, trying to scream, trying to yell, to warn her friend and husband of Moriarty, of his return and of his presence. 

"Molly!" Sherlock shouted, as if that would help to get her attention as she was so unstable. He took hold of her wrists gently as she attempted to roll herself out of the bed. "Calm down! You're okay! It's me!" He tried as she began to fight him. He wasn't listening to her. She had to get out, to get away. John was suddenly at her side.

"Molly, listen to me." John said calmly. She turned her attention to him and started to mouth words frantically. The trach, that's what was preventing her from being able to talk her brain told her. She reached for it and before John could stop her she had it out and onto the bed clattering onto the floor. Suddenly a new panic set in as she was unable to breath. Her eyes became wide and she motioned to her neck. John was already on it, digging through a nearby red cart and tossing supplies onto the bed. He rounded it again as Sherlock tried to keep her in bed. "Okay, okay love. Lay back, I'm going to fix it. I'll help you breathe." John rationalized and pushed back on her a bit. She became aware enough that she did so. John ripped open the supplies, warned her of what he was about to do, and quickly slipped a new trach in place. It was uncomfortable at first, but as soon as John placed the small trach mask over the opening and the oxygen began to flow she closed her eyes and breathed in slowly to catch her breath. "Good girl." John smiled and rubbed her hand lovingly. She slowly sat back up but this time did not flail and fight.

"It's okay..." Sherlock spoke softly and took her face in his hands softly and kissed her lips and her forehead. She allowed herself to be loved as she got her wits about her. She pulled away and motioned for her board. Sherlock leaned over and gave it to her. She began to write as fast as her body would allow. Moriarty is in the hospital. I was running from him. How did I get here? She wrote and showed the two. Sherlock straightened and looked at John.  
"Molly, when we were doing your scan you started to have a seizure." John explained. "You were having a hallucination brought on by it." Lestrade entered holding large photos of Molly's scan. He handed them to John who got up to go and place them on the light and look at them. She wrote more. I was all alone in the machine. You and John were gone. I hit him with a pole and cut my feet. Molly showed it to Sherlock. He turned and uncovered her petite feet and examined them. There were no cuts, no blood. He rubbed them softly.   
"Do they hurt?" He asked her. She nodded. Sherlock wrinkled his brow and turned to John. John turned.

"She probably feels whatever her brain thought she was encountering." John stated and turned back. Molly examined her feet. No cuts or bruising but they stung as though she'd run through broken glass. No Moriarty? I'm okay? She gazed at Sherlock. He smiled.   
You've been with us the entire time you were in that machine and after." Sherlock explained. "I'd never leave you love." She smiled back and leaned into him, relieved to know it was all just a very real, very bad dream. 

John walked over and handed the scans to Sherlock. "Wonderful news. Molly is clean. Completely 100% in the clear." John beamed. Molly could hardly contain her happiness as she lunged forward and wrapped her arms about John's neck to thank him. He hugged her back and then allowed Sherlock to gather her up and close to him. "We will have Mycroft's physicians examine them to be sure. A second opinion couldn't hurt. I do want to run a few more smaller tests to check out the seizure activity though."

"Of course, of course." Sherlock released his wife and stood to embrace John. "Gods bless you John Watson." He said and hugged John fiercely.

Lestrade's phone rang. He answered it and his happy expression turned to one of dismay. "Alright, alright, calm down Mrs. Hudson. What's the matter?" He asked. Sherlock and John released each other and glanced in Lestrade's direction. "No, don't move. I'm sending someone over right now." He hung up the phone and looked up, his face paling. "Abigail's missing." He eeped out. 

As surely as Lestrade was back on the phone with Scotland Yard, Mycroft wandered in. Sherlock took hold of his suit by the lapels. "Stay with Molly. My daughter is missing." He growled, not towards his brother but in general. He and John were swiftly out of the room before another word could be said. Lestrade nodded to Mycroft and followed quickly behind. Mycroft propped his umbrella up beside the door that he locked behind the three and sat at Molly's bedside. He took her hand as the tears began to fall from her already tired and swollen eyes. No words could be found in that moment.


	43. Chaptern 43

Sherlock and John arrived within minutes at 221B Baker Street. Sherlock barged into the flat despite the fact that it was now a crime scene and Lestrade's Scotland Yard team was trying to rope off the area. Lestrade was right behind. "Careful, Sherlock. I know you're upset but lets not upset any valuable clues we could have." He reminded a stricken Sherlock. John glanced at him.

Sherlock was pouring sweat and his eyes were wild. John reached out a hand to him but he was off again. Mrs. Hudson was sitting on the couch with her face buried in her hands crying. John found it reminiscent of when the CIA had taken her hostage to get information out of Sherlock. That man had ended up on top of Mrs. Hudson's car. Sherlock went to her and sat beside her. "What happened? Tell me what happened." Sherlock said forcifully, perhaps a bit more than he had intended. She looked up, a blackened eye and bruised wrists showing that he had not noticed before.

"Oh Sherlock!" She wailed anew as she saw him and his panicked look. "I'm so very sorry! Poor little Abigail....dear Lord!" She cried fresh tears. She took her gently by her shoulders.

"Mrs. Hudson. I need to know what happened." Sherlock softened a bit realizing he was probably being his usual harsh self. His heart was about to beat out of his chest and his mouth was full of cotton. "I'm not upset with you. Just please..."

"I had just put Abigail down for her nap and was in the kitchen cleaning her bottles and such.." Mrs. Hudson stared off into the space beyond Sherlock as she spoke. The policeman next to her began to jot down his notes as he had been unable to get much from her up until this point. "I heard a noise and thought the little one had decided to try and stand as she's been trying to lately. I started in and there were two men. One in a suit, a dapper looking man and another rugged bloke that didn't sit well with me. I yelled at them to get out or I'd call the cops and the bigger man was lifting Abigail out of the crib. I panicked and went for the phone on the nightstand. That's when the suited man hit me and knocked me to the floor." Mrs. Hudson shook tremendously. "Little Abigail, I could hear her crying but she was moving away from me and I couldn't get up. The suited man grabbed me by my arms and shook me with a psychotic grin telling me that he'd be sending word and he'd watch little Abby for a while. He hit me again I think and I blacked out. When I woke they were gone and I called Lestrade as soon as I could remember the number...her cries. Oh Sherlock!" Mrs. Hudson wailed once more. Sherlock swallowed and pulled her into his arms to hug her close. The wildness in his eyes was only growing more present.

John bent down and examined her as Sherlock held her. He noted the drying blood to the back of her head and her darkening eye. "She's got a concussion most definitely." He huffed and started to clean her up. He looked up at Sherlock. "When you're done we can go and look at the bedroom. Lestrade's on it." He said. Sherlock merely held Mrs. Hudson. He wasn't angry with her. Up against Moriarty or any other man larger than her she didn't stand much of a chance. He kissed her forehead lightly and released her, standing to see what, if anything, had been left in the bedroom for them to find.

Lestrade, John, and Sherlock entered the bedroom slowly and observed. Letrade cleared out the other men. Sherlock walked around, taking in everything he could. He hadn't been back to the flat in days but remembered precisely how everything looked when he had last left it. He put shaky hands on the crib and leaned over it to see Abigail's pink blankets and breathed in her smell of baby oil and softness. He gripped the cribside so hard that his knuckles were white. John observed. He reached in and moved about her things until he found a note pinned to the back of her baby otter that Mycroft had gotten her. 

Abigail is quite a dear, Sherlock. Hoping she takes more after her mother than she does you. Although, if things continue on in the fashion they have, she will take after her mother more than either of us would like her to. I'll be in touch soon. Until then, sit tight lovelies. - M

John read the note at Sherlock's side. "Dear God..." John sighed. "It never bloody ends with that sodding son of a bitch." He was angry but more so in control than his taller genius counterpart. Sherlock said nothing. Lestrade and John spared a glance as Lestrade continued to comb the room. 

"It's no good, Gary." Sherlock said. Even in his most stressful moment, John found that Sherlock still could not get Lestrade's name correct. Lestrade and John let it slide. "Moriarty and his henchmen will have left nothing but what they intended to leave." He handed the note to Lestrade who handed it off to his team for fingerprinting and analysis. He leaned heavily on the crib until he felt as if his legs could no longer support him. John caught him swaying and pried his fingers off to sit him on the bed. Sherlock clutched the stuffed animal in his hand and buried his face in his other. He began to sob, full body wracking sobs of a father who has lost something most precious. John sat next to him. He put a comforting hand on Sherlock's shoulder and the man leaned into him. His friend, his comfort and ever present John Watson. John held him tight as he did so. n

"We are going to get Abigail back, Sherlock. I swear it. If it's the last bloody thing I ever do in this world, I swear it." John said lowly and with menace as he attempted to comfort his friend. Lestrade stood with hands on his hips but nodded when John glanced up at him.

Molly was a nervous wreck. She tried to lay in her hospital bed and relax, although the medication that Mycroft's doctor had given her for the anxiety was not helping. She had refused it at first, fearing that Moriarty had been a reality and not just a seizure-induced hallucination. She stared at Mycroft as he sat and tapped his fingers nervously on his umbrella. She pawed her trach in exasperation. She wanted to talk, but she knew she couldn't. She couldn't just lay there and let her husband and friend try to figure out the mystery of her missing child by themselves. She sat up quickly and grabbed her board. Mycroft watched her with a frown that was not directed at her. She scribbled. Let me go see. I want to help. She wrote and showed him. "I'm sorry, Molly. You're still too weak and Sherlock stated that I watch you. You're better here. You showing up there is not going to help much." Mycroft answered. She wrinkled her brow in aggravation. That's my child that is missing! I'm going! She wrote and threw the board at him. He stood up quickly as he fumbled the board trying to catch it. Molly was already up and in Mycroft's coat heading out the door. He caught her by the arm. "Molly! Please! You're not fully recovered yet! What if you have another seizure? Not to mention the fact that everyone still think's you're dead. You'll blow that cover."

Molly turned and glared up at Mycroft who took a step back at the intensity in her stare. She covered her trach and rasped out in a throttled whisper, "Moriarty knows I'm not dead so that doesn't matter anymore, Mycroft." And she turned. She opened the door in only her gown and Mycroft's coat and stopped, almost falling as she glanced the lights flickering in the hallway. It brought her back to her nightmare. She looked around in panic. Mycroft came up behind her, already on the phone seemingly to warn Lestrade that she was going AWOL. She didn't care. Her daughter was missing and it was probably Moriarty's involvement. He knew she wasn't dead, or she knew Sherlock was okay with it all. She was livid. She overrode her fear and walked down the hallway hanging onto the guardrail the entire way.

Before long Molly was outside and attempting to hail a cab. Mycroft had hoped she would tire out before long and he could wheel her back to her room but Molly's determination got the better of him in that regard. He walked up beside her and caught her by the arm to support her. He glanced at her and hailed the cab. She smiled a little and covered her trach. "I'm sorry." She managed.

"You're a stubborn girl but I can't really blame you. You're husband will murder me for allowing this but who am I to restrain a mother worried for her child?" He said simply as the cab pulled up. He opened the door and helped her in before climbing in himself.

Sherlock was beginning to regain his composure when there was a noted ruckus outside the bedroom near the stairs. "Oh Molly, dear!" Mrs. Hudson could be heard through her tears. Sherlock's eyes widened. Molly had gotten all the way here from the hospital. He was going to murder his brother. Perhaps he had underestimated his wife, on the other hand. He stood and walked to the doorway with John to note Molly in nothing but a hospital gown and Mycroft's coat being helped into the living area of the flat by his brother. Mycroft met his eyes, shook his head and shrugged as if to say "I couldn't stop her." Sherlock narrowed his eyes.

Molly caught sight of him and John and hurried towards them. "Anything?" She asked covering the hole in her throat. Sherlock's eyes widened. She was indeed making a seemingly speedy recovery. Lestrade handed her to the note and she read it. She gritted her teeth in anger and then her knees gave a bit and she tried to steady herself on the wall. Suddenly she was off the ground and whisked to the nearby bed and sat upon it by Sherlock. She looked into his eyes and smiled lovingly. She brushed a curl from his eyes and noted his pale tear stricken face and felt whatever was left of her heart fracture a bit more at his helplessness. She looked at the crib. John reassured her as he had Sherlock only minutes before and she squeezed his hand confidently and nodded. She knew that they would do everything in their power to get their child back. Even if her life depended on it.


End file.
